


No one asks you if you're ready.

by barthelme



Series: All your fear is just confetti. [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: AU, I don't know, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, armie OWNS A HARDWARE STORE CALLED HAMMER HARDWARE, like actual single fathers with children that they claim as dependents when they do taxes, literal daddies, timmy has a burley, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Armie and Timmy are single dads who need to get their shit together.





	1. Chapter 1

Armie is running late. 

"Is this guy for real?" Armie hisses as a cyclist with a green Burley signals a left turn and cuts in front of Armie's truck. His hand hovers over the horn and he shakes with the need to destroy this person's eardrums until he makes his turn. Armie is never late. Briefly, he glances back at the empty car seat wedged behind the passenger seat; he can actually hear Harper scold, "You need to get your anger under control, Daddy," which is something her mother used to say. 

(He really should start driving Liz's car. Harper will be out of the car seat soon; she'll want the independence of climbing in and out of the car herself.)

Armie resorts to smacking his palm against the steering wheel. Checks his watch. He has five minutes. Two minutes to get to the school (if this guy ever gets out of his way), two minutes to run and and get to the classroom, and--if he's lucky--enough time to get a cup of terrible coffee and call the PTA meeting to order. 

"Fucking finally," he says as the biker turns; the arrow turns yellow and Armie barely squeaks through. "Over, move over, over, over," Armie yells, and rushes past the biker, who holds his middle finger up without taking his eyes off the road, stupid curly hair flopping in the wind. "Yeah, same to you, buddy. And wear a fucking helmet."

It's phone tree Friday. 

_____

"There are a few new policies I want to go over," Armie says, looking over his notes quickly. The kids had a half day and the room is still fairly bare. No half-finished art projects, no personalized name tags on the desks. He's perched on the end of Ms. Cole's desk at the front of the room, trying not to make eye contact with too many people. Last year, there was a mom who thought she had a "connection" with Armie. Thankfully, they transferred out of the district, but he wants to avoid that situation if possible.

The turnout is better than last year; fifteen parents and most of them familiar faces. Armie is, as usual, the only dad. He's not the only single parents, but he is in the minority. "So, bake sales will be nut free from now on. That means no peanuts, no tree nuts, no exceptions." He looks up to see if there are any questions. Violet Murphey looks poised to raise her hand; she always has a questions. "Yes" he asks. Raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh," She thumbs her necklace. "I was just curious if--"

The door slams open and Armie actually jumps. Looks over his shoulder. 

Oh, Jesus.

"I forgot my bike lock," the cyclist mumbles. "Can I just," he waves at the space in front of the chalkboard, but doesn't actually looks up for approval. He struggles to hold the door open with his hip while he rolls the bike and Burley into the room. 

Armie's face goes hot when he hears murmurs from the other parents, so he jumps in. Holds the door open. "I got it."

The cyclist looks up, nods a silent, "Thanks." There is no way this kid is old enough to have a child in the first grade. He looks like he's just out of high school; hell, he could still be in high school. 

"This is the PTA meeting," one of the moms says while the cyclist props his bike against the wall. No kickstand. Armie has never been able to figure it out: the more expensive the bike, the less likely it is to have a kickstand. Another thing Armie has never been able to figure out: choosing to bike when you could get a damn car. 

The cyclist pushes his hair back from his face and finds an empty desk. Slides in and stares at the woman. "Yeah, I read the sign. On the door. The one that says First Grade PTA Meeting." He blinks slowly, then looks forward. Armie tries not to laugh. Coughs into his elbow. 

He leans back against the desk and continues. "Alright, bake sale. No nuts, okay?"

A chorus of nods. 

_____  
_Of course it's the fucking cyclist,_ Armie thinks. He's trying to concentrate on the new policies and answering the questions Violet has ("Does peanut butter count?" Yes, it fucking counts.) _It's phone tree Friday, so of course this kid would show up. All the best things happen on the worst day of the year._

It's not that Armie doesn't like the PTA. He wouldn't be the president of it if he didn't like it. But the politics of it all? The focus spent on policies that should be covered by common sense? The drama? The parent shaming?

Armie could do without all of that. 

_____

The cyclist's name is Timmy. "Or Tim. Whatever, but," he says as Armie enters him at the bottom of the phone tree. Not the complete bottom; that's reserved for everyone who didn't bother to show up. "Can someone explain to me why we need a phone tree. Wouldn't a group e-mail make more sense?"

Armie looks up from his clipboard. Timmy (or Tim. Whatever) is pulling at the sleeve of his frayed t-shirt. Black Flag. 

The answer is, 'Yes,' but Armie starts to explain, "Well, it's this--"

"Tradition," Sharon answers. "But, there are also e-mails," she smiles too nicely at Timmy, "which is explained in the handbook. Did you get one of those, Dear?"

Timmy nods. Blushes and stares at his desk. "Yeah, I just haven't ready it yet."

"You got all weekend for that," Armie jokes. Timmy is not making a good impression and, unfortunately, good impressions mean everything in the PTA. A bad impression means last pick for volunteer days, the earliest field day shifts, the worst behaved group for field trips. 

Maybe it's because the kid is sinking into his desk and expanding on a hole that already exists in his shirt. Maybe it's the gaunt face and dark bags under his eyes. Maybe it's the fact that he almost ran the kid off the road a half hour ago. Maybe it's just because Armie is a good person, most of the time. 

Armie hugs his clipboard to his chest. "Shoot, I just realized we never asked you what your kid's name is."

Timmy clears his throat, smiles. Softly bites his tongue. "Actually, I have twins. Olivia and Elliot. Olivia likes to go by Oli lately and she has an extensive rock collection. Elliot is really into _Moana_. I mean, we all are, but Elliot especially." He looks up at Armie. Back down at his desk. Fidgets. "They just turned six last week."

Armie knows what some of the parents will think about that. He can literally hear Sharon saying, "I would never have rushed my Vinnia out of preschool if h had an August birthday. You always want to be the oldest in the class, not the youngest and smallest."

 _Are you any better?_ Armie thinks. _You're already doing the math to figure out how old Timmy possibly could have been when Olivia and Elliot were born. Did he adopt? Are they his younger siblings? Is he some mom's oddly young rebound?_

"My daughter is Harper," Armie takes the spotlight back. He doesn't enjoy it, but he takes it. "She's more of a _Frozen_ fan. "

_____

Afterwards, Timmy fiddles with his bike at the front of the room, while a few parents ask Armie questions. He checks his phone. Bites his lip, his thumbnail. He waits until the last parent leaves and Armie is picking up his papers. 

"Sorry I was late," he says like a gust of wind. "I'm never late for shit, but I overslept and then I had a flat tire. I just wanted to check if I missed anything. Before the 'No nuts' stuff."

Armie holds the door open for Timmy, who pushes his bike out into the hallway. "Nope, that was about it. You did miss a thrilling conversation about how Hutton's is going out of business, so if you need to stock up on your cardigans..."

The click, click, click of Timmy's bike echoes down the empty hall. "The gym's this way, right? I've only been here once. Twice including this morning, I guess."

Armie nods. "Yeah, I can show you."

_____

Armie isn't prepared for Olivia and Elliot. He isn't prepared for Timmy. He isn't prepared for the pang that hits his gut (or does it hit higher in his chest?) when the twins see Timmy walk into the gym and they sprint to him. He isn't prepared for Timmy to scoop down and put an around around each of their waists, easily picking them up and twirling them in a circle, their voices filling the gym with giggles. "Oh, I missed you both," Timmy whispers, slowing his spins to kiss Elliot's forehead, Olivia's curls. 

Armie isn't prepared for the look of complete contentment on Timmy's face. 

Harper is still running in circles with her group of friends. He'll have a talk with her tonight to make sure she's trying to play with the new kids her class. 

The twins are back on the ground and Timmy has one of their hands in each of his. He looks ready to bolt, but the twins aren't budging. "Who are you?" Olivia asks. Timmy sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Bites hard. He must be fun at play dates. 

Armie kneels down until he's almost eye level with her. "I'm Armie. Harper is my daughter and you must be Princess Olivia." Armie startles when Timmy laughs. Looks up to see the kid shaking his head. "Queen Olivia?"

Timmy looks down at Olivia, whose brows are furrowed together. It looks like this has been a point of contention in the family. "Tell him, Oli."

"I'm not a princess. I'm a geologist. Do you like rocks?"

Armie is not prepared for any of this.

_____

"Are you f--" Armie looks in the rearview mirror; Harper is looking at a book. He silences himself and stares forward as Timmy pedals up next to his bike. Curses under his breath and looks out the driver's side window. Prays that the light will change. Wants to disappear. 

There's a knock on the passenger window and Armie can't ignore him, so he looks over. Armie waves and he can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks. 

Timmy shakes his head. Looks back at his Burley. The twins must be distracted because he flips Armie off, blocking the gesture from Harper's view with his other hand. 

The light changes; Timmy laughs. Waves and pulls himself into a standing position on his pedals to cross the intersection. 

_____

Later, Armie reads a chapter of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ to Harper before bed. Her hair is still wet from her bath and it soaks through his t-shirt; his feet hang off the end of her bed. She falls asleep before they reach the end of the chapter and he rests his chin on her head.

Across the room, there's a picture of Armie, Liz, and Harper on the dresser. They're at the beach. Sunday, two years ago, the last time Liz would go to the beach, the last time she would scold Harper for taking her sunhat off, the last time she would chase Harper into the waves, the last time she would fall asleep in the passenger seat on the way home, one hand on Armie's knee. 

He swallows, thick, and kisses Harper's cheek. Turns off her bedside lamp. 

He still has to type up the official phone tree and send it out. 

_____

Armie is not the kind of person that Facebook stalks people, even though he is easily able to look at the class roster online and match up Eliot and Olivia with Guardian #1 Timothée Chalamet. No Guardian #2 listed. 

Armie is a thirty-one year old man who uses his Facebook to keep in contact with college buddies and relatives he doesn't actually want to visit. He doesn't Facebook stalk people. 

(Okay, but actually he is that kind of person. He opens an incognito window so Timmy doesn't get a friend suggestion of Armie Hammer, the guy who tried to run you off the road a few hours ago. Timmy doesn't look like himself--or at least the Timmy that was presented at the PTA meeting--in his profile picture. He's laying in the grass, the sun in his yes. Elliot snuggled against his chest and Olivia kissing his cheek sloppily. TImmy's smile is wide. They look younger; all of them. The kids were maybe three or four. Which would make Timmy...

He graduated high school in 2013, which makes him twenty-two. Timmy became a dad when he was sixteen. 

Sixteen. Armie clicks through a few pictures. There's nothing from before the twins, and even those posts are few and far between. 

Armie closes his laptop. Checks on Harper. Watches her sleep for a minute.

Sixteen.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the academy and the discord group for listening to me scream variations of, "AND ARMIE IS BAD AT MAKING PANCAKES AND TIMMY IS FUCKING APPALLED," all day long.

One of the worst mistakes Armie ever made was wearing his work shirt to pick up Harper one day.

(It had gone like this:

"Harper, Daddy has to be back to work in ten minutes, so shoes on." Her tiny backpack was slung over his shoulder and he was holding some sort of Popsicle stick, glue, glitter disaster. 

And then the PTA flock descended like the hounds of hell. A finger attached to Renee Osgood reached out, tapping the Hammer Hardware logo on his blue polo. She smiled and she winked up at him. "I never put two and two together," she said, letting her finger linger.

"We got a great deal on lawn mowers this week," he joked, and that's how he ended up getting a lot of new, female costumers.)

"So, what do you think about a carnival," Janet asks. She's buying sandpaper and a Diet Coke. Claims to be working on a craft project that Armie is sure doesn't exist. She leans against the counter, watching as Armie bags her items. It's eight in the morning and her hair is curled, eyeliner perfect. 

Armie shrugs and hands her the bag. "Maybe in the Spring. We just had the picnic in June, so." He flashes his work smile. "Have a nice day and thanks for choosing Hammer Hardware."

Nick at least waits for the door to fully close before he laughs from the shovel aisle. "Three moms before eight o'clock. A new record!"

Armie throws a roll of duct tape at him.

_____

At first, Armie appreciated the attention. He started being involved in parent groups a few months after Liz passed. To get out of the house. To focus on something positive. To stop waking up, doing the necessities, going to bed. Repeat.

Everyone knew about Liz (because everyone loved Liz), and at first the moms (and the stray single fathers) kept their distance. Slowly, this changed and it felt good. He went on a few dates, but realized he either wasn't ready or it wasn't what he wanted. 

Now though? It's just annoying. A nuisance. He loves this part of his life and loves making a positive impact on Harper's life. And, yeah, he likes being in charge of something and making decisions. But everything else?

Armie phone vibrates.

Marcy: _drinks at mac's sat. at 8!_

She uses a plethora of emojis that make Armie cringe.

_____

Armie knows it's not mandatory, but it feels like an unwritten rule that PTA happy hours are required. Still, he doesn't get there until almsot nine, even though it's a short walk from his apartment above the hardware store. Harper wanted him to read to her instead of Nick and then she needed a drink of water that she could "get on my _own, Daddy,_ which meant they had to do their whole night-night process all over again and then Nick needed to have a beer with him and bitch about how he was stood up for a blind date yet again. 

Armie doesn't mind. He takes his time walking to Mac's. 

He's barely even opened the door when the group is waving him down. Marcy pats the seat next to her and he has no choice but to slide in. "Hey, sorry. Harper needed a bedtime story." 

And then it begins. 

"You're such a good dad!"  
"I wish my husband was as involved as you!"  
"We have to get together for a play date!"  
"Maybe the girls could have a slumber party and we can have a nice dinner."  
"Are you eating well?" 

Armie is barely able to breathe, but eventually excuses himself to get a beer. He leans against the bar and tries to get the attention of the bartender, who is leaning against the opposite side of the bar. Armie doesn't recognize him (not that he's that much of a regular, but Mac's _does_ have a kid's menu before 8PM), so sue him if he lets his eyes linger a bit. The man is clearly engaged in a conversation with a woman drinking wine. She must be at least forty, and she's running her pointer finger along the rim of her glass. He's wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt that's riding up in the back, revealing a few inches of white, white, white skin. 

Armie looks away. 

Coughs.

When that doesn't get the guy's attention, he drums on the bar. Watches as the guy leans forward and says something to make the woman giggle. Turns, saying, "I'll be right back, Alice," over his shoulder and then he looks up at Armie. His face says, "Oh shit," but his mouth asks, "What can I get you?"

God, he's wearing a v-neck and Armie doesn't know why that matters, but it does. "Bud Light." 

Timmy makes a face for a split second, then grabs a glass. "You out for drinks with your gal pals?" Timmy asks. Grins at Armie as he angles the glass slightly away from his body, pulls the Bud Light tap.

Armie fake laughs and slaps a few bills on the bar. "Yeah, we're getting pedicures tomorrow if you want to join."

Timmy slides the beer over to Armie, pockets the cash. Starts to walk back to Alice, whose entire face lights up. She straightens her back, leans over the counter so he breasts rest on the wood. "Can't," Timmy holds up his hands in defeat. "Getting my bikini waxed," he says before resting his palms against the bar. He immediately makes Alice throw her head back with a laugh.   
_____

Armie doesn't mean to--like, actively tries not to and curses when he does--keep looking at Timmy behind the bar. He seems like a different person, again. Not the PTA Timmy (Or Tim. Whatever), not Dad Timmy, but someone completely different. Bar Timmy is like a cat, moving easily from customer to customer, not spending too much time, but giving everyone just enough attention that they want more. Grabbing glasses, washing dishes, pouring beer, wine, all while smiling at jokes. Winking at sly flirtations. Pressing unassuming touches to knuckles, wrists, elbows. 

Armie wants to gulp his beer down just for an excuse to get another. He doesn't. 

Armie has made a game out of drinking. Every conversation he adds to, he's allowed a sip of beer. It stops him from getting drunk, yet also forces him to try to be a part of the conversation. ("You sound like an alcoholic," Nick joked when Armie told him. "A really lame alcoholic, actually.") He's in the middle of explaining how he gets Harper to eat new foods there's a hand on his shoulder and a pitcher of dark beer in front of him. He looks up as Timmy leans down, whispers, "Thought you might need some real beer." He straightens up, looks at the table. "Hey, Ladies. Anyone need anything while I'm over here?" 

He keeps his hand on Armie's shoulder while they rattle off their orders, which Timmy somehow memorizes. ("I'm sure he's going to forget what I ordered," Emma says when Timmy walks away. "They always do." Armie smirks when Timmy easily slides the correct drink in front of everyone, rattling off the specific beer or wine as he does.)

Armie tries to ignore the touch. Pours himself a glass, offers it to the table. They decline, and Timmy pats his shoulder. "That's all you, big guy." 

Bar Timmy makes Armie's mouth dry, apparently, so he takes a long swig. The beer is strong.

_____

Armie is not drunk, but he is thankful when Timmy brings him a glass of water. Most of the PTA have left and Armie is mainly checking his e-mails and looking at pictures of Harper on his phone. "Here," Timmy says, sitting down next to him. "Thought I'd join you guys for part of my break," he says, but he doesn't bother looking at anyone but Armie. "Did you like the beer?" He nods at the almost empty pitcher. 

Armie nods, but he grabs the water and is glad to have it on his tongue. 

Bar Timmy moves gracefully, so gracefully that Armie doesn't understand how he gets from point A to point B, because one moment Timmy is sitting and the next he has pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Offering one to Armie, who waves the offer away. "I don't smoke around the kids," Timmy explains, like he's said it a million times before. Rests the pack next to Armie's glass. "Or in the apartment. 

"You still have the smell on your clothes," Sharon says from across the table. 

Timmy slowly turns to look at her. Blinks. "Thanks for that information, Sharon." He exhales towards her. Blinks again.

Armie takes the moment to look at Timmy's nose, his lips, the way his curls tuck behind his ear. "I didn't know you work here," Armie says. "We come here all the time; you should join on a day off."

Timmy looks back at Armie. Smiles as he pulls his foot onto the seat of the chair, resting his elbow on his knee. His cigarette looks like it's on a pedestal. "Probably not a good idea," he says and reaches for Armie's drink, finishing half a beer in one gulp. 

( _What the actual fuck is wrong with you,_ Armie thinks. _You don't even know this guy, really._ He wipes his palms on his thighs as Timmy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.)

"I'd have to pay for a babysitter, and that kid is already getting enough of my money."

Armie hears the other women gathering their things. Whispering, "He is drinking on the job, can you believe that?"

"I should probably get going," Armie says. "How much do I owe you for--"

Timmy shakes his head. "On the house. It's a thank you," Timmy says and stands up. Puts the cigarette between his lips and starts to stack glasses. "For, you know, not _actually_ running me off the road the other day."

Armie wants to argue, but when he stands, his head is fuzzy. Loose. He watches Timmy walk back to the bar and drops a twenty on the table. 

_____

Armie might actually almost be a little drunk, so Nick offers to spend the night just in case Harper wakes up. 

"I love you," Armie says as he climbs into bed next to Nick. They've done this since they were kids, so it feels natural. It would feel weird, Armie thinks, for one of them to sleep on the couch. "Like, I love you so much."

Nick laughs. "Go to bed, idiot."

Armie rolls on his side. Pulls the covers up to his chin and closes his eyes. He tries not to think about Timmy, but he does. Thinks about how he should call him tomorrow and invite him to the Sunday park date the neighborhood always has. 

Thinks about how quickly Timmy declined coming to the next happy hour. About how he has to get a babysitter while he works. Which means he has no one Nick of his own to help. 

"Fuck," Armie whispers, glad that Nick is already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Armie wakes up hungover and confused. 

He tosses frozen pancakes into the microwave for Harper, who is somehow still sleeping at eight-thirty. Normally, she's up by seven and Armie is going to assume Uncle Nick gave into her whines of, "But I can't fall asleep," after Armie left. Nick starts the coffee pot; begins opening and closing cupboards. "You have shit for food." He opens a bag of chips and hops on the counter. "So, wild night with the PTA gals?"

Armie frowns. "Something like that." 

He's not ready to talk about all of this, especially with Nick who was like a brother to Liz. 

It's not like he's ashamed about being hit on (if that's what Timmy was doing.) It happens. And it's not like he isn't attracted to men--attracted to Timmy in some shape or form. Sure, he was married to Liz, but he'd experimented before her. He'd been close to relationships with men, though none of them went that far. Sex? Yes. He'd fucked, been fucked. Did he tell people about it? No more than he told people about his sex with Liz. 

(Which was beautiful. It was sexy, it was comical at times. It was simple, it could be hard. It was rough, and spontaneous. Slow. Morning, night, nowhere at all.)

"I don't know, I just drank a bit too much," Armie shrugs. Laughs and looks away. Pretends he's wiping crusties out of his eyes when really this flood of shame hurts and it's been two years. 

It shouldn't hurt this much, still. 

(And it doesn't, it really doesn't. Most days are okay.)

The microwave beeps and Armie plods to Harper's bedroom to wake her. 

_____

The first day of school is a mess. Both parents, grandparents, second cousins twice removed: they all seem to show up to drop kids off for their first day of school. For Armie, it's just him and Harper. He carries her to the front door, even though he knows it's frowned upon. 

(He read a quote last night when he couldn't sleep about how eventually you set your child down and you never pick them up again; he was already an emotional wreck and that pushed him over the edge. He stayed up watching videos of dogs reuniting with their owners after being lost.)

He'll carry his damn daughter, okay. 

"Olivia," he hears the moment he opens the school door. "Please, just hold still."

Armie looks down, towards the voice while hoisting Harper up a bit further on his hip. She's getting heavy and when did that happen?

Timmy is sitting on the entryway bench, trying to keep Olivia between his knees. He has an elastic band in his teeth, a comb in one hand and his other hand loosely holding her curly hair. Elliot is on the floor, using his backpack as a pillow. "I don't want my hair up," Olivia whines. Shakes her head a little and fidgets. 

Timmy closes his eyes. His jaw tenses and Armie can basically see him counting to ten. Waits for her to still for a millisecond, then tightens his knees on her waist. He's in running shorts and a black tank top; his hair pushed back with a thin headband. His curls are flat on one side. 

"Yeah, I know, but daddy doesn't want to have to brush knots out of your hair tonight, so stand still, and let me," he tries again, this time managing to comb the hair almost flat on top. He fluidly switches the comb to his mouth and the hairband to his fingers, twisting it around Olivia's hair and patting Olivia's bottom to get her to move. "OK, Elliot, up." 

Armie is not staring. He's saying good morning. 

"Hey, Timmy. Olivia," Armie salutes at Olivia, who is free from Timmy's knee prison and now climbing on the bench. "Elliot, good morning. Harper, say--"

Harper lifts her head from her dad's shoulder and smiles. "Good morning!" 

"Morning Harper," Timmy smiles up at her while he grabs Elliot by the shoulders and runs a finger through his blond hair. He looks more lost with Elliot's straight, light hair than he did with Olivia's. "Hey Armie," Timmy says, before licking his fingers and trying to smooth down Elliot's collic. The hair springs back up. "Sorry, dude, this is a mess." Timmy leans forward and puts his forehead against Elliot's. "We'll wake up early tomorrow and take baths, okay? Are we ready?" Timmy stands up and seems to forget that Armie and Harper are there. He lets Olivia wrap her arms around his neck and lifts her up, reaches down for Elliot's hand. Starts walking away. He's a good fifteen feet gone before he tosses, "Are you two coming?" over his shoulder. 

"Can I walk now, Daddy?" Harper asks. Armie just isn't prepared for any of this. Not at all. 

_____

Afterwards, Armie pulls his sunglasses over his eyes and looks away when he wipes his nose. 

"Fuck," Timmy says once they're outside the school. "I need a cigarette and a nap."

Armie nods, knowing full fucking well his voice will crack if he says anything. 

(Liz was supposed to be here for this. Liz would have made sure Harper's outfit matched. Liz would have been able to stop and help Timmy with Olivia's hair.)

"I thought I was going to be okay," Timmy says. There's a slight laugh to his voice, but he sniffles and takes his headband off. Shakes his hair out and then pushes it back in. Armie is following him to the bike rack, even though his truck is in the opposite direction. "We were running late, so I gave them granola bars for the ride and I almost forgot to put their helmets on and then Elliot had to pee so we had to undo everything and run back inside, and their hair looks terrible," Timmy's words are like a hurricane. "It just happened so fast and then they're running to their fucking tiny little desks and they didn't even," he takes a deep breath and kneels down to unlock his bike. Armie definitely doesn't notice the way his skin is tight over his shoulder blades; his eyes don't like on the shift of tight, lean shoulder muscles. "They didn't even give me a hug goodbye and," he throws the u-lock into the Burley along with his keys and starts pushing the bike out of the rack. "And I have to work tonight, so I don't even get to really hear about their day. Fuck," he swings a leg over his bike and looks away. "Fuck."

Armie has his hands in his pockets. He doesn't know what to say, so he asks, "Coffee?"

_____

Somehow, Timmy beats Armie to the coffee shop. Like, locks his bike up, finds an open spot in the busy shop, and already has a dark drink in front of him and one placed on the other side. "I figured you liked your coffee boring like your beer, so I got you medium roast. You need cream, right. Sugar? Maybe an orange juice instead?" He smirks. 

"Thanks," Armie laughs. "I didn't know ordering a Bud Light was going to haunt me likes this. What's that?" Armie sits down; the table is tiny and his knees bump the underside. 

"Shot in the dark. Coffee, espresso, likely heart murmur." Timmy sips his drink and slumps back in his chair. Crosses his legs. Cracks his knuckles. "Sorry about earlier. I just didn't really--"

"I had to put on sunglasses," Armie shushes him, gestures at the clouds and dreary day outside, "Because I was about to ugly cry, okay? At least you could use your words."

It's a different Timmy now. Armie can't put his finger on it, but this Timmy is a lot like Dad Timmy. 

(Except he was sixteen and alone when he became a dad to twins. This is the Timmy that has raised two twins on his own since he was literally and legally a child with--as far as Armie knows--little to no help.)

"They seem like great kids," Armie says. He blows on his coffee before drinking. _You seem like a great dad,_ he wants to follow up. 

Timmy smiles and rubs his thumb across the base of his neck, and Armie's pupils follow the thumb. For a moment, wants to feel Timmy's Adam's apple. Squashes that thought. "They're so good," he sighs.

"Even when they don't want ponytails."

Timmy nods. "Even when they don't want ponytails."

Conversation is easy. It's simple. 

_____

Timmy needs to sleep before work. Armie can't fathom his schedule, but he walks to his bike with him; offers him a ride instead. "No, no," Timmy waves him off. "I like biking. It's the only time I get to be in my own head, you know?"

He unlocks his bike. "Sorry about Saturday, by the way," he laughs. "I just saw all of those women pawing at you and thought it would be funny."

Oh. 

( _He thought it would be funny, you idiot. Of course._ )

Armie laughs, but his gut flips. He licks his lips and shrugs. 

"So, your wife must be pretty confident to let those PTA moms fight over you," Timmy jokes. 

Armie's stomach clenches. His fingernails dig into his palms.

( _He doesn't know. Of course he doesn't know. Fuck._ )

"Oh, I don't have a wife," Armie says. He twirls his keys around his finger. Presses the unlock button. and starts backing up. 

Timmy freezes, clenches his handlebars. "Shit, oh. Oh!" He pumps the bakes, cracks his neck. "Yeah, sorry. I don't know why I just assumed you're, you know." Timmy blushes and lamely points at Armie's ring finger, which still has a band stuck under his knuckle. Timmy's reaction is...

It's something. Something that Armie can't put his finger on. Soft, but distant. 

(Adorable.)

And Armie doesn't correct him, doesn't stop him, doesn't, doesn't, doesn't. 

"It's not a big deal," Armie says. 

____

Armie thinks about it all day. He drops a bag of mulch that splits and goes everywhere. He overcharges a woman for birdseed. 

"The hell is going on with you," Nick asks at lunch. His mouth is filled with a sandwich. 

"I'm an idiot," Armie says. He eats a handful of pistacios.

"Yeah, and?"

Throws a pistacio shell at Nick.

_____

On Friday, there's the traditional classroom open house at the end of the school day. Nick comes because, "Everyone else has _two_ parents coming and I just have the one. Everyone else gets to give their parents _two_ necklaces and I only get to give one."

Armie knows this is one of those things Harper will remember when she's old enough to feel true regret, so he doesn't respond. Just says he'll call the school and say Nick is coming.

("Well, I already told the school you are coming," Armie pleads. "And Harper. Please, Nick.")

They are running a bit late and when they get there, Timmy already has two brightly beaded necklaces around his neck. Because of course he does. Of course he wasn't lying; he's never late, especially when it concerns the twins. 

"Daddy! Uncle Nick!" Armie's knee buckles a bit as Harper latches on to the back of him. "Come see my desk!"

Her desk is next to Elliot's, Armie notices, and they have matching lion name tags taped to them. "What's this mean," Nick asks, pointing at the lion. 

"We're buddies for the year," Harper says. "We hold hands when we go on walks and we share crayons."

After they get their own brightly beaded necklaces, Harper latches on to Nick's hand and starts yanking him around the room quickly. "Book nook! We read there with our buddy! Art station! Writing center!"

"I'll just, be over here," Armie murmurs. He traces Harper's nametag with his finger. 

He doesn't watch Timmy out of the corner of his eye, so he definitely does not see how he absently twirls a finger in Olivia's curls or sticks Elliot's tag back in his t-shirt repeatedly. 

_____

Afterwards, the kids go to the playgruond while parents awkwardly socialize. Armie works hard to avoid the PTA moms, while Nick asks which ones are single. "I'm not," Armie hisses, leaning back on the bench, "Setting you up with one of them."

"What about her," Nick points, and Armie shoves at his head. Catches a glimpse of Timmy standing at the corner of the playground, biting his lip. Hands in his pockets. 

"That's the guy I told you about," Armie explains before cupping his hand around his mouth and calling out, "Timmy! Over here!" He slaps his hand on Nick's knee, digs his thumb in. "Don't be a dick, please," he hisses as Timmy walks over. Gives his knee a quick slap. 

"Hey," Timmy says. He's in his black jeans, black v-neck; he must work tonight. The necklaces look like highlighters around his neck. He smiles at Armie, glances at Nick. "Tim," he reaches out his hand. "You must be--"

"Nick," he says and they shake hands. Timmy shoves his hands in his pockets. "You have the twins, right?" Timmy nods. "I'm not even allowed to own a plant, so," Nick gestures towards the playground, "Good job on that."

_Why do you talk, Nick?_ Armie thinks. Nudges his foot. 

"Harper and Elliot are buddies for the year," Armie blurts out. "That's neat."

_Neat._ Armie wants to die. 

Timmy bobs his head, but makes no move to join them on the bench. Stretches his arms above his head, revealing white, white, white skin. Checks his watch. "Well, I have to get going. Work, you know." He starts backing away, then says to Nick, "You should probably keep an eye on this guy," pointing his thumb at Armie. "Those PTA moms are relentless." He turns, calls for Elliot and Olivia, and starts making his way to the bike racks. 

"He thinks we're," Nick sits up straight. Stares at Armie. Narrows his eyes into slits.

_Jesus Christ,_ Armie thinks. _This is happening. Of course this is happening._

Armie nods. "Yep, Timmy thinks we're married. This is my life. This is my fucking life."

He briefly wonders how awkward it would be to chase after Timmy, who is helping his kids with their helmets, and explain, "Nick is my friend! Not my husband. I was married, but I'm not now. My wife is dead."

Awkward. Really fucking awkward.

_____

Armie stands in front of the bathroom medicine cabinet. Harper is in bed and the apartment is silent. He twists his ring back and forth, the tight metal pinching his skin with each movement. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a small box from the top shelf. Inside are two silver bands. He adds his own band to the collection. Puts the box back and goes to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

Nick slaps the bank deposit on the counter. Leans in and stares at Armie. "Wait a god damn second," he hisses. "You _like_ this guy?"

Armie rolls his eyes and fiddles with the hem of his polo. "Can you not make this sound like we're in junior high? Yes, I think he is a good looking person and I like the way he talks."

_And the way he smells faintly of cigarettes, bubble baths, and deodorant. The way he tosses his hair around like it's a nuisance he doesn't have time to cut. How he smiles, but only sometimes and only at people he likes. And the way he licks his lips, rolls his tongue around his mouth like he doesn't know what to do with it. The way he doesn't care if people see his skin, if people see his annoyance, if people see his charm._ Armie doesn't say these things, but he thinks them and more. _The way he would likely feel under my fingertips._

"The way he talks?" Nick smirks. Shoves Armie's shoulder. "Seriously, you like the way he--"

"He has a way. Of talking. That is attractive," Armie says. "Now, can you go to the bank and forget I ever said that?"

_____

On Sunday, Armie abuses the phone tree. Texts Timmy. 

Armie: _we go to the park on sundays. you should brings the twins._

Minutes that feel like days, weeks, seconds pass and Armie keeps checking his phone, even though it doesn't vibrate. 

He tries to braid Harper's hair; it turns out lopsided, but it's out of her face. He kisses her nose and asks if she wants to bring anything to the park. She runs to her bedroom to find her jump rope. Armie doesn't remember buying her a jump rope. 

Timmy: _which park_

For a moment, Armie feels a victory. Timmy didn't ask who was texting him, so maybe he had put Armie's number in his phone. Maybe he had capitalized the _A_ in his name. Maybe he had given him a nickname. 

Armie bites his lip. 

Timmy: _this is armie right_

Armie scrunches his nose. 

Armie: _ya. the one across from the park. we're heading over in twenty._

Timmy: _k_

Armie glares at his phone. "Well, are you fucking coming or not," he whispers. Types it out, then erases it. Huffs and tosses his phone on the kitchen counter. "Asshole."

"What's an asshole?" Harper asks. 

God damnit. Armie massages his temples.

_____

Okay, so maybe Armie is a bit terrified of being attracted to a man. Not necessarily being attracted to a man, but being _this_ attracted to a man. 

He's pushing Harper on a swing and trying to have an actual conversation with Sharon. "I don't think full day preschool would be awful," Armie explains. "I just worry that the funding isn't there and they would cut special needs programs, music classes, elective teachers. You know?"

He doesn't think Sharon knows, but he listens while she responds anyways. 

He listens until he sees Timmy biking up, holding his weight on the handlebars, standing on the pedals, hips shifted to the left as he turns toward the bike rack. 

_You're embarrassing,_ he tells himself. Pushes Harper a bit higher, and she giggles. Timmy is hopping off his bike. Pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe his forehead, his upper lip. His neck. _Fuck._

"What?" he asks Sharon. 

She sighs. Pushes Jeremy again. "I said," she starts and Timmy is unzipping the Burley. Reaching in and undoing straps, helmets, grabbing Elliot and picking him up. Giving a hand to Olivia as she gets out. Shoulders rounding when she sprints to the playground. "Olivia," he calls out. "I have to," he has the bike lock in one hand. 

"I'm watching her," Armie calls out, and Timmy turns his head to him. Gives a wave and a nod. 

He has no idea what Sharon is saying until she says, "Oh, great. That kid is here now."

Armie gives Harper an extra boost. "Yeah, I invited him, Sharon."

Sharon looks away and Olivia is already upside down on the monkey bars. 

____

Armie ends up barefoot in the sandbox with Timmy. To be fair, the kids were there to begin with, but they have escaped to the climber. Armie digs his toes in deeper. Grabs a handful of sand and lets it slip slowly between his fingers. "Do you work tonight?" Armie asks. 

Timmy shakes his head. "Nope." Grins. Wiggles his toes and Armie definitely doesn't stare at them. 

Harper and Olivia are chasing one another; Elliot is on the slide. 

"Cool. I have to close the store for Nick," Armie mentions. Brings his thumb to his mouth and scrapes the edge of it with his teeth. 

"Nick seems nice."

_Tell him, you fucking idiot,_ Armie thinks. "Hey, speaking of Nick," ( _Seriously, are you fucking stupid? Could this sound more rehearsed?_ ) "I think you misunderstood like," he holds his hands up and makes some gesture that resembles a mix between directing an orchestra and having a seizure, "our relationship. Nick is my best friend."

Timmy sits up straight. Bends his knees and wipes sand off his calves. He's wearing cut-off jean shorts that hit just above his knees. A t-shirt that looks almost as old as Timmy. Social Distortion. (Armie wants Timmy to make him a mix tape. Wants him to play him a song and say, "You have to hear this." Wants to have to ask what he's listening to because Armie doesn't know.)

"I'm not married," Armie says. He flexes his hand and tries not to make a point of staring at the tan line on his ring finger. 

Timmy laughs. Blushes. "Oh, wow." Runs his fingers through his hair. Toys with a curl in front of his face.

"I just thought you should know."

Timmy nods. Rests his chin on his knee. This is relaxed Timmy. Armie might like relaxed Timmy the most of all. 

Armie shields his eyes from the sun and checks on Harper. Finds Elliot and Olivia just to be sure. "He's not my type, anyways," he jokes. 

Another laugh. Armie looks down and watches as Timmy's eyes dart from twin to twin. As he licks his lips, flexes his jaw. "What is your type." It's not a question. Is it a challenge? Does he even want that answer? Does he need the answer? Does he actually care?

Armie's palms feel hot. 

_You._

"My wife died." _Jesus Christ are you for fucking real right now just shut the fuck up and--_ "Two years ago. So, I'm not really like. Ugh."

Timmy turns his head so his cheek is on his knee. It smooshes his face and Armie wants to grab his chin, kiss him. "Shit." He doesn't say he's sorry, he doesn't give him pity eyes, he doesn't try to hug him and tell him he's there for him. Armie wants to press him into the sand and hold him there. Wants to rest his head on Timmy's chest and close his eyes.

"I mean, she died and I'd been with her for a long time. Almost ten years. So, she was my type and now I don't know." Armie runs his thumb along his ring finger; the skin feels tender. 

Elliot runs up to them, kicking sand everywhere. "Can Harper come to movie night?"

Timmy pulls Elliot in for a hug. Armie loves that Timmy hugs his kids all the time, even when there's no reason. There's always a reason for Timmy to hold them, to kiss their foreheads, to straighten their shirts, to tickle their backs, their sides, their toes. "Can she?" he asks Armie.

____

Timmy's apartment is small. There's one bedroom and when they walk in, Timmy apologizes. Grabs a pillow and blanket from the couch and and tosses it into the bedroom. "Sorry," he says. Shrugs. "We don't have people over that much." 

The walls are bare and the furniture doesn't match. Armie grabs Timmy's elbow. Shakes his head, "Don't apologize, okay?" He steps closer, feels Timmy's body heat. Tries to catch his eyes, but Timmy looks down. "I'm pretty sure our place has dishes in the sink from Wednesday, so don't apologize."

_He's tense, and you're awkward,_ Armie thinks and drops Timmy's elbow. Settles onto the couch while Timmy goes to the kitchen and starts popcorn. He has an air popper and Armie likes that. He likes that he doesn't have bagged popcorn. 

_What is wrong with you?_

____

"She always falls asleep during movies," Timmy whispers. Olivia is snoring in front of the television while Elliot and Harper absently eat popcorn, eyes glued to the screen. 

Armie laughs. The couch is small and Timmy's knee leans against his. 

"We should probably go soon. It's late," Armie whispers back. "Can I help with dishes?" 

Timmy waves him off. He's barefoot again and Armie glances at his toes, his ankles. Wants to feel the angles of Timmy's bones, the way they press against his skin. Wants to feel the back of his knee. He settles for putting his arm along the back of the couch. Letting his wrist bump Timmy's shoulder. When Timmy doesn't budge, Armie presses his finger against Timmy's tricep. Traces the pad of his finger along his flesh. Wants the kids to be in bed, at a babysitter's house, even at his mom's house. He doesn't care. He wants Timmy pressed into this stupidly tiny couch, their legs and bodies too long to fit but still making it work. 

Armie glances at the kids. Harper looks sleepy; her hand is just resting in the popcorn bowl at this point. Elliot has moved and is laying down on his stomach. He looks at Timmy, at his neck, his jaw. The way his hair is tucked behind his ears, the softness of his earlobe. Before he can change his mind, Armie moves his hand to cup Timmy's shoulder. 

Timmy turns to look at him. Blinks. They turned the lights off and the colors of the movie flash across Timmy's face and Armie leans in, can smell Timmy's shampoo, his breath. He's close, so close and wants so much and--

"What the fuck are you doing?" Timmy whispers, low and soft so the kids don't hear. His glare burns Armie's face. His shoulder tenses and it feels like a wall, like a pane of glass, like acid.

Armie's skin aches and the couch is huge, (too big, not big enough) as he presses himself against the arm, drops his hands in his lap and stares at the television.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of dialogue. Sorry.

On Monday morning, the bike rack outside the elementary is achingly empty. The twins have already been dropped off and Olivia looks at him from across the room. Smiles and waves. Armie mouths, "Hey," before leaning down to give Harper a hug that she wriggles out of. "Can you just," Armie rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. Vividly remembers Liz scolded Armie's mom one time at Thanskgiving when Harper didn't want to hug Grandma's new boyfriend. 

("If she doesn't want to hug him, she doesn't have to and that's final." Liz had been wearing grey leggings and a blue tunic; her hair was up in a bun and a bit of flour leftover from making biscuits was spread across her neck. Armie scooted through the kitchen and wiped it off, winked and scooped Harper up. 

"Well, it's just a bit rude to not--"

Liz whipped around, dish towel in hand and Armie did not want to be in the middle of this. "She has her reasons, I'm sure. It's not rude."

"She's a child, she,"

Armie groaned. "Mom, can we just not--"

"She's a child, but she's not an--" Liz stammered and tossed the towel onto the counter. She glanced sideways at Harper and Armie. "She can make decisions about who hugs her, okay? Armie, can we go for a walk while--"

And she looked tired. Pale. Mainly agitated [angry and understandably so], and only Armie and Liz knew at this point. They wanted to wait until after the holidays to tell everything. It was Liz's choice. "I'll get the stroller.")

He lets Harper pull away and watches her run to her cubby, put her bag away and find her seat next to Elliot. "Have a good day," he says to no one.   
_____

It's been three days and Armie texts Timmy. The twins have been dropped off early every morning; picked up late every afternoon. 

(On Tuesday, he tried to waste time looking at art in the hallways, but the PTA moms were arriving and he didn't need to have the full awkward Timmy confrontation happen in front of them. He knows whose side they would take and he would look pathetic defending Timmy to them. "Yeah, no, you see I tried to get into a makeout session with him while our kids watched _Mulan_.)

So, on Wednesday night, he texts.

Armie: _can we just forget what happened_

Armie knows Timmy works tonight--

_How do you know his schedule. You have known him for less than a month. What is actually wrong with you._

\--so he doesn't expect a text back right away. And yet, Timmy responds in seconds. Armie can see him leaning against the bar, flirting with some blank face. Casually pulling his phone out, responding to the text. Sliding his phone back in his pocket and then looking back at the person, pushing his hair out of his face. "Sorry, that was no one." Rolling his eyes like he gets texts from losers all the time, because he probably does. 

Timmy: _k_

Armie throws his phone across the room. Flinches when it slides across the carpet and hits the baseboard. 

"Daddy, you really need to work on your ang--"

"Harper, baby, how about some ice cream?"

She's already brushed her teeth but he doesn't need to be lectured by a first grader right now because "k" is the worst thing you can text someone. 

Later, when Harper is in bed, Armie retrieves his phone and settles onto the couch. He turns on a late night show for background noise, for a voice, for anything but the silence.

Armie: _im sorry also. i forgot to say that._

Again, an immediate response and this time, Armie pictures Timmy handing a beer to someone. Flashing a smile their way and holding a finger up. "This guy just won't leave me alone," he'd laugh and casually tug at his v-neck, pulling it down slightly to reveal more of his pale sternum. 

Timmy: _k._

"He's added a period," Armie hisses. Watches the monologue and doesn't laugh. 

Armie: _look are you mad at me_

Now, Timmy is cleaning the bar off with a wet cloth, black jeans tight against this thighs. He knows he has the full bar's attention and he stretches, stretches, stretches to reach every corner. Pulls his phone out, sighs. Someone who has been tipping him well all night, asks, "Seriously, who is this guy?"

And Timmy will roll his eyes, press his hip against the counter. "Literally no one."

Timmy: _nope._

Armie tries to go to bed. He ends up waking up and eating an entire sleeve of thin mints while looking at Timmy's punctuated texts. Maybe this is just how he texts.

_____

It's Thursday and Armie is finally able to tell Nick. He's been dreading this. 

Nick covers his ears. "This is one of the most awkward things I've ever heard," he says. "Please stop talking, but also tell me everything."

Armie rubs his hands along his cheeks. Pulls his fingers down his neck and scratches at the stubble popping up. "So, the movie ends and he hasn't even blinked. I mean, I didn't look at him, but he seemed like he wasn't--"

"Seemed like he wasn't," Nick laughs. "You are insane."

Armie ignores him and continues. "But, he was like huffing instead of breathing and I thought he was just going to send the kids to their room and then _I don't know._ He's always a bit pissy, but this was like--"

"Fight or flight."

"What?"

Nick hops up on the counter and takes a sip of coffee. The store is clean, shelves are stocked, and customers are nowhere to be seen. It's a typical Monday morning, save for the most awkward rejection story filling the air. "You never did pay attention in high school. It's a physiological reaction to--"

"I know what fucking fight or flight is, Nick. But, he didn't seem scared or mad at all. It was like he was embarrassed." He doesn't say it out loud, but for the split second before Armie had recoiled to the other side of the couch, he had gotten a good look at Timmy. His face had been this awful mix of terror, sadness, and worry. Like a trapped animal. Armie's cheeks burn at the thought of making Timmy look like that. "And so the movie ends, I grab Harper because she's falling asleep."

Nick nods and clucks his tongue. "Like a shield. Nice. Using the baby as a shield."

Armie throws a pen at him. It falls to the floor and he picks it up, sets it back on the register. "She's not a baby." He turns his back to Nick and stares outside. There's no one on the streets this morning. "Or a shield. She's not a baby shield."

"Oh my God," Nick laughs. "You know, if Liz could hear this," he says tentatively. Some days, it's best not to discuss Liz and other days Armie can take a joke. Lives for her name, like she's still alive.

"She would say," Armie does an excellent impression of Liz. He turns, puts one hand on his hip and sharply points the other at Nick. "She can be a shield if she wants to be a damn shield."

They both laugh and Nick kicks a leg out. Nudges Armie's thigh. "Okay, and then what. This is getting so good."

"It gets _worse_ ," Armie sighs. "Wait, I didn't even tell you how he reacted to the movie ending. The movie ends, he flicks on the lamp next to him so hard that it fucking wobbles for a second. Then, he stalks to the door, flings it open, and just stares at the floor. So, I'm like thinking I should apologize or whatever, but he clearly wants me gone, so I start to say goodnight as I walk out, and he just goes, 'Yep.' And he slams," Armie slaps his palm on the counter, "the door."

"Wow. You really scarred this kid."

"I didn't do anything!"

The door jingles and a customer walks in; Nick hops off the counter and calls out, "Good morning! Welcome to Hammer Hardware. Let us know if we can help you out."

Armie has a very strict "Don't badger the fucking customers" rule because people don't come to a hardware store to browse. They'll find you if they need you. 

"Did you ever think," Nick asks, "That he may not be, you know," raises his eyebrows. "Into you? Or even into guys?"

The customer is standing in the main aisle, looking around aimlessly. Clearly trying to look like he knows where he is going, but having no idea at all. "Go help him," Armie says before pushing off the counter and walking to the back office. He needs to print off the inventory list. 

(And, no, he never thought that, but thank you very fucking much, Nick.)

_____

_Oh, God,_ Armie thinks once he is plopped at his desk. The chair creaks under his weight and he leans back. Like always, he flails for a moment because the chair feels like it will tip over. He links his fingers behind his head and stares at the the wood paneling behind his computer. _I can never see him again. I need to transfer Harper to a different school. A private school in Antarctica. Fuck._

No, it had never crossed Armie's mind that Timmy wasn't into him. After the bar, after coffee. Timmy rambling after dropping the twins off. The way he smiled at Armie and-- 

_Maybe he was just being nice to the only other parent who isn't an asshole to him. To the only other single dad he knows in the area._

\--the way he let his knee rest against Armie's on the couch.

_What kind of self absorbed idiot--who is an actual adult--thinks someone--barely an acquaintance--likes them because of a knee pressed against against their fucking knee. It was a small couch._

"Oh my God," Armie leans forward and lets his head smash against the keyboard. 

"We need quarters," Nick calls from the front. 

_____

 

To be fair, Armie hasn't really dealt with a lot of rejection. On their third date, Liz called him "Universally attractive," before winking and silently inviting him to the dance floor. He had followed because she had called him attractive and it made him smile. Not a plethora of lesser, cheap synonyms, but attractive. It sounded factual and scientific and he would come to adore that about Liz. She didn't throw out compliments; she handed over facts.

_But, universally attractive does not mean the universe is attracted to you, you fucking ass._

The bank is a short walk from Hammer Hardware, so Armie volunteers to go. He needs to get out, he needs to get some coffee, he needs to swipe some suckers from the teller. He thinks the errand will get his mind off Timmy, but then he sees some elderly cyclist on the street and thinks how much nicer Timmy looks on a bike. How his body just fits, how he looks calm, easy. Happy.

_You need to stop._

It's a small bank, and when Armie opens the door, he's met with, "Okay, I know you are just doing your job, but there has to be someone else I can speak to," Timmy says. He's wearing the black jeans from the bar and scuffed combat boots. He's not wearing the black v-neck and Armie's heart drops for just a second. It's an old, mustard yellow bowling shirt that has "Livin' on a Spare" embroidered on the back. "I just deposited a check yesterday morning, so there is no way I could have overdrafted last night."

The teller sighs. "Sir, I'm looking at your account and,"

Timmy bends his knees and tosses his head back. Groans and holds up his check book. From a few feet away, Armie can see meticulous lines of numbers. Subtraction, addition. "Listen, I have never messed up my bank balance. Ever. See?" 

Armie is frozen. He feels like he's watching Timmy undress.

"Sir, I am looking at your account and it looks like that check didn't clear," she turns her computer screen so he can see. Timmy leans forward and his eyes scan the computer screen. "I'm really sorry, but maybe if you contacted--"

Timmy falls back on his heels, defeated. "Yeah, I," he nods. Armie can hear the lump in his throat. "Listen," he places his fingers on the counter. Lowers his voice. "I'm sorry if I was short with you, I know you're doing your job. It's just been a rough week." 

The girl blushes and looks down. 

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Do you need me to look up the number of your--"

Timmy shakes his head and tells her to have a good day. He turns on his heel and is shoving his checkbook in his back pocket and runs smack into Armie, who hasn't moved, 

_Because you are an actual idiot._

"Fuck, sorry," Timmy mutters. Looks up. "Oh."

Armie wants to stop him, wants to grab his arm, his wrist, hold him in place. Wants to touch him, but that didn't go well the last time, so he steps aside. 

"Hey," Armie says, but Timmy is out the door. 

____

Timmy is outside. Timmy is outside smoking, yelling on the phone. 

Armie gets his quarters and withdraws a few hundred dollars from his personal account. 

Outside, he catches the tail end of the conversation, "Well, I need to be fucking paid today. I will be there by noon and you need to--" he pauses and shakes his head at the sky. Brings his cigarette to his lips. "No, I can't wait until tomorrow." He exhales. "Yeah, fine. Half is okay but I need the other half by tomorrow, okay?" 

He hangs up and stares at Armie. "Hey, listen, I'm not in the mood to," he waves his cigarette between them. Armie can't look him in the eyes; he notices the name embroidered on the pocket of his shirt. Andy.

"I," Armie digs in his pocket and pulls out the bank envelope. Holds it out to Timmy. "I know you're good for it."

For the shortest whisper of time, Armie thinks he did the right thing. He thinks he did something to help, something to make Timmy happy, because he looks like he's about to smile. 

Instead he tosses his cigarette to the ground by Armie's feet. Stomps it out. Laughs (and there's an actual snort attached to the laugh), "You are unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable."

He's about to walk away, across the street to where his bike is parked. Armie has never noticed that bike rack and he's lived here his whole life. 

"I'm just trying to help," Armie says. "That's what friends do, okay? Nick did this shit for me all the time when the store was doing--"

Timmy turns around, throws his arms in the air and just laughs harder. "We're not friends, Armie. Our kids are friends. Our kids are classroom buddies. You," he's basically spitting at Armie, "Don't know anything about me, okay?" The look of embarrassment is back. "What do I know about you other than you aren't married to your best friend, apparently--though he seems like he wishes you were--and your wife is dead." Timmy's eyes go wide. "Shit, I'm--"

Armie waves him off. "Nick is straight, first off. Like painfully straight. Yeah, we share a bed sometimes but we've known each other since we were kids and he makes me wear a shirt. In bed."

_Hey, Nick, remember how you said that previous story was the most awkward thing you've ever heard. You are in for a fucking treat when I get back._

"Fuck, that's not even the point. And don't worry about the wife thing," Armie rambles. "I'm just sorry that I came onto you like that."

Armie is very aware of how they look right now and is very glad that town is dead this morning. 

"I'm sorry I brought up your wife, I just," Timmy scratches the back of his head. "My paycheck didn't clear and I wanted to take them out to some crappy diner last night, and I checked my account this morning and--"

"Shit, Timmy, don't apologize about my wife. If you'd made fun of her, I'd be mad. Only Nick can do that." Timmy cocks his left eyebrow. Smirks. "Seriously, we've never even made out." Now, the look is back. The embarrassed, sad, terrified one from Sunday. 

_What the fuck is happening can you shut up holy shit._

"Anyways, you're right. We're not really friends, and I was completely out of place when I--"

"I'm not that type of person," Timmy blurts out. He's blushing. "I don't just go around," he swallows, "Doing that. And with anyone. I haven't really--" he shakes his head. 

Armie wants to hug him, but he just nods. "It's okay."

"And my kids--our kids--were in the room and I just--"

Our kids, our kids, our kids.

"--I freaked out."

Armie looks both ways and starts to cross the street. Timmy follows, hands in his pockets. Armie hears the jingle of his keys. "Listen, I just misread this," he gestured between them. "Can I still try to be your friend?"

Timmy bends down and starts to unlock his bike. He shakes the lock and it clangs against the metal rack. When he stands up, he pushes the U-lock in his back pocket. Armie doesn't know why that is attractive. It's careless and he wants to say so much, but the hardware store sells u-locks for when Timmy inevitably loses it while riding. Timmy looks up at Armie and the sun is behind him. Armie can tell he hasn't showered today; his hair is just a bit greasy and the curls around his face are tighter than normal. 

"What if you didn't?" Timmy asks. 

"What if I didn't? Try to be your--"

Timmy stomps his foot and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "No, what if you _didn't_."

"What if I--" Armie starts again. He really needs a cup of coffee. 

"What if you didn't misread," Timmy gestures between them. "This." 

_oh. Oh!_

Armie tries not to smile, but his face beams. "Do you want to go get coffee?" Armie asks. "My treat."

Timmy looks past Armie's shoulder. Armie likes that Timmy can see over his shoulder; he likes that he's not a wall in front of him. He likes that Timmy is tall and--

_You're doing the thing again,_ he reminds himself.

"I volunteered to read this morning to the kids. And then I have to go to the laundromat." He looks back at Armie and offers a soft smile. "Maybe this weekend we could take the kids to that cookie shop. Is it good?"

It's not a yes, but it's not a no.   
It's definitely not a no.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, Armie, Timmy, and I will stop being teases by chapter seven.  
> There's a slight chance this will be a chapter or two over ten chapters. Apologies.

Nick is breaking down boxes and laughing at Armie. "You told him we share a bed, no homo, like seriously are you trying to fuck this up?" He jumps on top of a freshly unpacked box. Nick breaks down boxes like a five year old and Armie knows this because it used to be Harper's job. 

"He gave me a look, okay," Armie says. He uses a box cutter to break down boxes, like a fucking adult. He tosses a flattened box onto the pile. His phone vibrates and he flicks the box cutter shut. Pulls out his phone. 

Timmy: _look who doesn't separate their whites and colors tsk tsk_

There's a picture attached of Sharon bent over a washer, pulling out a mass of wet clothes. Whites, darks, colors. 

Armie shoves his phone in Nick's direction. "Look, see? I couldn't have been that awkward because he--"

Nick stomps another box. "Because he sends you pictures of middle aged women doing laundry. Wow."

Armie pulls his phone back. Debates trying to play it cool and wait more than a minute before texting back. 

Nick watches him. Armie's thumbs hover over his phone. "He already knows you have less than zero chill, so," he motions for him to hurry up. "He's doing laundry; entertain the kid."

Armie: _...youre supposed to separate laundry?_

He bites his lip and puts his phone back. 

Ten minutes later, Timmy sends another picture. A selfie, crouched in front of a dryer, looking too happy ( _that smile, that hint of the tip of his tongue, that slight wink_ ) and giving a thumbs up. The load is all whites.

_____

Armie forgets about the PTA meeting until Friday afternoon when Beth chases him down in the hallway. His shoulders tense and curl when he hears the clack, clack, clack of kitten heels. Beth is a high school math teacher and she dresses like it is nineteen-ninety four. 

"Armie, Armie," she says and he stops next to the drinking fountain. Takes a deep breath. Plasters on a smile. Turns around in time to see Timmy strolling through the front door. "The meeting is Monday, right?"

Timmy is wearing Dickies that are barely held up by a canvas belt and a grey v-neck. He grins at Armie and maybe it's the stride, the swing of his arms, but Armie can tell this is PTA Timmy. "Monday at four, Beth. It'll be in the room with the sign on the door. Can't miss it." As he walks by Armie, Timmy nods and slaps his shoulder gently. "Right, Mr. President?"

Armie holds back a laugh. Nods and turns back to Beth. "He's right; it's Monday at four."

_____

Timmy: _k so_

Armie almost throws the phone. Again. He glances across the living room at Harper, who is coloring at the small table he built for her when she was four. She's outgrowing it and he could probably take the legs off. Add longer ones.

Timmy: _this town has three cookies shops..._

Armie: _aren't you working?_

It's six o'clock. "Harper, do you want some french fries?" Armie is already looking for Harper's shoes.

Timmy: _yeah i'm WORKING on finding the best damn cookies in town._  
Timmy: _also it's dead here._

Armie: _well save two spots at the bar_

_____

Timmy is eating a salad, elbows on the bar and ranch spotting his lower lip, when Armie and Harper walk in; Armie helps Harper up onto the bar stool. "Hey," he says and Timmy startles a bit. Stands up and pulls the hem of his shirt down, but then back up as he wipes his mouth on the inside collar of his v-neck. "I didn't think you'd be here this soon," he says. 

"We live right down the street," Armie says. Points at Timmy's salad. "Didn't take you for a salad eater."

Timmy pushes a cherry tomato with his fork. "Someone ordered a Caesar but they made a side, so," he shrugs. "Free dinner."

Harper moves to her knees and Armie keeps a hand on the back of her stool, just in case he needs to grab her. 

"Harper, can you tell Timmy what you want?" Armie asks. He reaches out and grabs the tomato from Timmy's plate. Pops it in his mouth. 

"Fries and a vanilla shake. Extra whipped cream. And two cherries, please."

Timmy side-eyes Armie and he worries at first that Timmy is judging him, but then Timmy mouths, "Yeah?" Armie nods and orders a burger. Hold the lettuce, the tomato, and the onions. And mustard.

"Why don't you just get a Happy Meal," Timmy asks, but he starts walking back to the kitchen. Armie doesn't watch his hips, doesn't pay attention to the way Timmy absently kicks the kitchen door open and starts yelling the order.  
_____

When their food comes, Armie insists Timmy eats half his burger. "Salad is not dinner," he says. "And I already had a sandwich at home."

It takes some coaxing, but when Timmy finally takes the smaller half ("You split it, so Timmy gets to choose," Harper reminds her dad), it's gone in two bites. 

A few customers sit at the bar, and Timmy tends to them, taking time to joke around. One or two seem like regulars and Timmy calls them by name, asks how the kids are doing, if their furnace got fixed, when exactly they're going on that cruise they mentioned. Conversation comes easy. Friendly. 

_I could take him home to mom,_ Armie thinks, _If mom wasn't, well. Mom._

_____

Timmy gets sent home at eight. He only lets Armie pay for their drinks. "I get an order of fries every shift, so," he gestures at Harper's plate as he closes out the till. Harper crawled into Armie's lap after finishing most of her milkshake and has been dozing on and off; Armie knows she should be in bed, but it's Friday. She can sleep in tomorrow (and maybe so can he.)

"Well, thanks," Armie says and carefully stands up, shifting Harper so she's resting her head on his shoulder. 

_You've had a nice night. You picked out a cookie place. You ate his tomato and he ate your burger, just don't push it._

"Can I walk you out?" Armie asks and actually would love to just have his mouth wired shut. "Or, walk out with you. Not like, walk you--"

_Jesus._

Timmy shrugs and grabs a grey cardigan from under the counter. Pulls it on and the sleeves hang past his fingertips. He slaps his back pockets, side pockets, murmurs, "Keys, wallet, phone, chapstick, cigarettes, lighter, okay. I'm ready."

His bike is locked to a bus sign outside. He pulls out his cigarettes and sticks one behind his ear. Grabs his keys and unlocks his bike while Armie just holds Harper, not wanting to go home but knowing he needs to. "So, tomorrow? The Cookie Cutter? Noon?" Armie confirms and Timmy is climbing on his bike. 

"Yeah, that sounds good," he says softly, puts a hand on Harper's back and rubs up and down her spine. "Tell Harper goodnight for me, okay?"

Armie wasn't ready for any of this, but he wants all of this. 

"Yeah, tell Elliot and Olivia we said hi." 

They're underneath a streetlamp and it smells like grease and beer outside the bar. 

_You need to go home,_ Armie tells himself. Pleads with himself. _You need to walk away so Timmy can go home and pay his babysitter and--_

They speak at the same time, so fast, that Armie forgets who says what. "Can I hug you," "I had a nice time with you." 

"Yeah," they both say, and Timmy moves first. It's awkward with the bike and with Harper and with everything that's happened this week, but Timmy puts a loose arm around Armie's shoulders. Armie tries to free one of his arms enough to put on Timmy's waist, his back, anywhere, everywhere, but he can't and his stomach aches. He settles for focusing on Timmy's thumb rubbing his shoulder blade. 

"Night," Timmy whispers before pulling back and kicking off with one foot. Coasting down the street, past the hardware store, past the end of the block, and then gone. 

Armie's breathing is ragged. 

_____

Once Harper is tucked in bed, Armie pulls out his wedding album. He sits cross legged in the middle of his bed and thumbs through the pictures. Finds his favorite picture of Liz (she's standing in front of a window, looking back over her shoulder.) Traces a finger down her nose, her jaw, above her eyebrow. 

Closes the album and tiptoes to the bathroom. Opens the medicine cabinet and finds his ring. He doesn't put it on, but he holds it in his fist.

Texts Nick. 

Nick: _be there in ten._

_____

They're head to toe and toe to head on the bed. Nick is throwing a ball up in the air. Catching it. Throwing again. Waiting. 

"Like," Armie says for what seems to be the seventeenth time. He dips his pinky into his ring. Pulls it out and slams his head against the mattress. 

Nick yawns. It's almost two in the morning. "Liz would be happy for you. She is happy for you," Nick says. He doesn't know how many times he's said this. 

Armie rolls on his side. Stares at Nick's feet. Nick came prepared in pajama pants and a soft shirt; Armie is down to his boxers and a hoodie. His bare feet are on his pillow. "Like," he starts again, but this time the words seem to find their way. "I know she would be happy, but I still worry that she would be happy for me but not Harper. Or what if she's happy that I'm moving forward, but she doesn't like who I'm moving forward with?"

"This is going to sound harsh," Nick says, "So, don't take it the wrong way. But Liz doesn't get to choose how you move forward. She wanted you to move on afterwards, and you are. She didn't give you a list of people you can move on with." He throws the ball a bit too high and it hits the ceiling. They both freeze and their heads whip to the door, waiting for the sound of Harper stirring. 

Silence. 

"Also, Timmy is great with Harper, so that's just stupid. Don't be stupid."

_____

Armie wakes up to Nick's feet and a text from Timmy that must have been sent when Armie was struggling to speak. 

Timmy: _dont take this the wrong way but i wish harper hadnt been there tonight_  
Timmy: _bc id really like to kiss you._

Armie rolls on his back. Smiles and texts back. 

Armie: _she accidentally walked in on me watching shameless one time. she can handle you kissing me._  
Timmy: _you should get your husband to babysit her sometime_

Armie likes this idea and he really likes this Timmy. He won't get used to this openness, but he wants to. He desperately wants to. 

Armie takes a picture of Nick who is still sleep. He looks awful from this angle and he knows Nick would kill him if he knew he was showing anyone. 

Timmy: _trying to make me jealous?_  
Armie: _is it working?_  
Timmy: _no._  
Timmy: _maybe._

Armie grins at the ceiling. He hears Harper's door squeak open. Time for breakfast. He puts his wedding band back in the medicine cabinet before heading to the kitchen to heat up pancakes.  
_____

Armie is running late and if he doesn't get his shit together, Timmy is going to assume he has no sense of time or is a jerk. 

When they get there, Timmy is in line. Cut-off, black jean shorts and a red and white baseball shirt that has "SNYDER" with a giant "9" ironed on the back. His hair is pulled back, but a few curls are loose along his neck, his jaw. Tucked behind his ear. "Yeah, we'll eat here," he says and opens his wallet one handed, reaching absently for Olivia with the other before she knocks over a display of coffee mugs. 

"I said it's on me," Armie says as they join him at the front of the line. He pushes Timmy's wrist away and reaches for his own wallet. 

"I got it," Timmy says, but Armie is already handing over a credit card. It's getting busy so the cashier doesn't wait for them to settle the skirmish. She runs Armie's card as another worker brings out a sample tray of cookies, three glasses of milk, and two coffees on a tray. Timmy licks his lips and kicks his toe against the baseboard along the counter. Puts his wallet back in his pocket. Picks up the tray and finds an empty table. There is only a four top available, so he sets the tray down, sits down. "Whoever sits with Dad gets an extra bite of my cookie."

Oliva and Elliot scramble to climb on his lap; Olivia wins. The kids are quick to the cookies, quicker with conversations that go way over Timmy and Oliver's heads, and quick to spill one of the milks. 

Afterwards, they walk the kids to the playground and find an empty bench. "Well, that wasn't exactly the first date I was hoping for," Armie laughs. He debates putting his arm along the back of the bench, behind Timmy, close enough for Timmy to lean into him. Instead, he rests his hands in his lap. Timmy leans forward, elbows on his knees. Watches the kids play. Harper and Elliot seem closer; they have inside "classroom buddy" jokes that Olivia doesn't get. Olivia doesn't seem to care. When they choose a teeter totter, she chooses the monkey bars. 

"So, I didn't want to say anything back there," Timmy says. Armie notices his left knee bouncing. He's picking at his nails. "But, I don't like it when people do that," he nods back towards the Cookie Cutter. "It makes me feel like a little kid. My parents used to do that. My ex used to do that. Strangers do that. I'm not a kid."

"I'd said it was my treat," Armie says. "The other day." Dares nudging Timmy with his elbow; Timmy looks back at him and a curl falls down against his forehead. "And I don't think you're a kid. I wouldn't ask a kid out on a date."

"I just want you to know how I feel about that shit, okay? Just want to make sure you know. I'm not made I just. Don't like it." He leans back. Stretches his arms above his head in an exaggerated yawn. Wraps an arm around Armie's shoulders. "And this? Not a date. Not a date at all."

Armie looks at Timmy's hand that's soft against his shoulder. Fingers just hanging, grazing his t-shirt. Back at Timmy, who grins. "Wait, was I not supposed to steal your move?"

Armie slaps his thigh. "You're actually an ass," he says, rolling his eyes. His cheeks burn, no, his entire fucking face burns. He glances over at the kids, who have joined forces in the sandbox. Looks back at Timmy. "Hey."

When Timmy looks at him, there's no embarrassment, no terror. Just a slight smile and a "what now?" expression.

"You forgot the most important part of the move," Armie whispers, leaning in slowly, watching Timmy's eyes dart to his lips. Watching Timmy licks his lips. Take a breath. Exhale with a shudder.

Watches Timmy lean forward slightly. Start to close his eyes.

_Oh, God, just fucking do it, you fucking dumb--_

"But, the kids are here." Armie says. Stands up and stretches his arms above his head. Turns around. Timmy's mouth is gaping. Head still turned to where Armie was sitting. Eyes open. He blinks. "And this," Armie gestures between them. "Isn't a date."

When Timmy stands up, he shoves Armie. "I don't know how, but I'm going to kill you."

This is an empty threat and they both know it. "Well, I don't know how, but I'm going to make sure you get stuck with Sharon for a bake sale shift."

_____

Later, Harper is climbing stacks of firewood and singing "Let It Go" while Armie helps Nick close the store. 

Timmy: _bar is having electrical issues so im off tonight_  
Armie: _~~that sucks~~_

Armie deletes the text. Rewrites it. Deletes it again. 

_Don't ask Nick, don't ask Nick, don't ask--_

"So, Timmy is saying he doesn't work tonight."

Nick is counting down the till, numbers rattling off under his breath.

"Like, what is he trying to say there?"

_Does he want to take the kids to dinner? Bowling? Game night? Does he just want me to know? Is he bored and just talking? Starting a conversation while the twins nap. Do the twins nap? Harper still naps and my mom says she's too old for naps. I'll ask Timmy._

Armie: _weird question, but do the twins still nap?_

"Maybe he wants to go bowling with the kids."

Nick glares at him, loudly counts, "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred," and slaps dollar bills into their own stack. He looks over at Harper, who isn't listening. "He wants you to ask him out for drinks, hire a babysitter, take him out for said drinks, and then back to your place to grind one out." He carefully puts the money back in the till. Slips the extra into the deposit bag. Zips it closed. "Or whatever two guys do. I don't want to even know what you do or want to do. Except afterwards, and vaguely. Hemingway-esque, even."

Timmy: _just on weekends. theyre napping now._

"No, see," Armie waves the phone. "See, the twins are just napping. He's bored. I'll run that to the bank really quick." He puts his phone on the counter and grabs the deposit. "Harper, want to go for a walk with Daddy?"

___

When he gets back, Nick is sitting on the counter, eating an apple. Smirking. "You've got a date."

"What. What? _What._ " He grabs his phone. 

Armie: _hey nick says he can watch the twins and harper tonight_  
Armie: _we should go to a bar that isnt catching on fire as we speak_  
Armie: _or we could chill at my place._  
Timmy: _wait you want your ex-husband to watch my children so you can get me liquored up?_  
Timmy: _i guess im not going to be dad of the year because sign me up_  
Armie: _you can be my daddy of the year ;)_

Armie makes a disgruntled gasp. 

Timmy: _uggggh_  
Armie: _haha just messing with you. but really i'll come pick you up at eight. is it k if nick watches them at ur house?_  
Timmy: _why are you so weird. yeah thats good. maybe bring pjs for harper in case she ends up sleeping over?_  
Armie: _okie dokies._  
Timmy: _:)_

"You're welcoooome," Nick sings like Māui, raising one dramatic jazz hand while he takes a bite of apple with the other. "I got you a date in what, five or six lines? You really should put a password on your phone, by the way."

Armie's fingers and tongue feel numb. "No, you got me a date in three lines and a restraining order by the fourth." Tries to hide his smile. "And I would never say 'Okie dokies.'"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter took forever and made me angry.  
> 2\. Timmy is 22.  
> 3\. Thanks, discord pals for listening to me bitch. And cry. And be annoying. You're all lovely humans.  
> 4\. Oh, jesus fuck it's long. Get a snack.

Armie lectures Nick as they walk up the stairs to Timmy's apartment. Harper is sprinting ahead of them, dragging her overnight bag behind her. "One: Do not say anything about his apartment. Two: Do not snoop when they go to bed. Three: When you do end up snooping, don't tell me about anything you find. I don't need to know. Four: If he tries to pay you, say I'm redeeming a big favor."

Nick feigns offense. "Armie, what kind of person do you think I am?" Then he stops, tugs on Armie's sleeve. Checks to make sure Harper is out of hearing range. "But, really, say I'm snooping and I find some really kinky shit. Like, should I warn you before you get him back to your place?"

Armie glares. Shoves him into the wall and stalks up the stairs to join Harper as she rings the doorbell over and over, chanting, "ElliotOlivia, ElliotOlivia." 

"Harper," Armie says. Leans down, picks her up football style.

"But, okay," Nick says as he joins them in front of the door. "What if he's _actually_ into Dadd--" Armie slaps his free hand over Nick's mouth as Timmy answers the door. 

_Holy shit._ He's wearing a grey v-neck under a black and white track jacket. Black jeans that aren't from the bar because they look soft, new. He's barefoot. And his hair looks soft. Tucked behind his ears. And shiny. 

_And you are doing. It. Again. The date hasn't even started._

Armie doesn't care that Harper is squirming. He doesn't care that Nick is trying to bite his hand, and he really doesn't fucking care that Timmy is looking from Harper to Nick. Back to Harper. Back to Nick. Settling his eyes on Armie. But then going back to Nick. 

He cares about how his stomach feels tight and his smile loose. How he sees Timmy and thinks about walking to the playground and Timmy grabbing Harper's hand when they crossed the street. How he doesn't even know Timmy's favorite color (though, he's pretty sure it's something like grey or black or maybe he doesn't even have one) or why he has so many different personalities, but he knows he likes each and every one of them. (Except "k." Timmy. He could do without "k." Timmy for the rest of his life.

...but even then, he wants to do whatever he can to make sure Timmy never responds "k." again.)

_I am not ready for this. I am not ready for any of this. I will never be ready._

"Hey," Timmy says slowly, opening the door wider and stepping back. 

Armie puts Harper down. She hugs Timmy's knee and then sprints to the living room. "Harper, shoes! Hi." Carefully takes his hand off Nick's mouth. "Timmy, you remember Nick."

Timmy nods and holds his hand out; Nick wipes his hand on his pants, then shakes. "Thanks for, like--"

"No problem." he jokes, slaps Timmy on the chest and looks around. "Nice place. And you," he gestures at Timmy, "Clean up nice. I thought dumpster chic was just your _thing._ "

_I hate him. He got you the date. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to chop him into tiny bits. He got you the date. He got you the date. He got you the--_

"Well, maybe if you dressed more dumpster and less GAP, you'd have the date and not me."

_Fuck me. Why does his stupid fucking mouth turn me on. He's so sharp._

Nick laughs. "I like you. Hey, are those Legos?" He spots the kids in the living area building a castle and slips between Armie and Timmy. Shrugs his jacket off and drops it on the couch. 

"Nick, shoes," Armie calls out, but Timmy shakes his head and tells him not to worry. Laughs. "Sorry, he's like--"

"Offering to babysit three kids at once," Timmy whispers. "So, we should get out of here before he realizes what he's gotten into. Let me get my shoes."  
____

The door shuts and the sound of the lock turning echoes through the hallway. Timmy bites his lip. Plays with the zipper on jacket. Up, down. Up. "So," he says. Laughs. "This is weird." They start walking toward the staircase and their shoulders bump. The hall is narrow. "I haven't been out with an adult, without the kids, in like--"

 _Six years,_ Armie wants to answer for him. 

"Three years, I think?" Their shoulders bump again. 

_Oh._

_He wasn't just waiting around for you, you know. You were married. You don't get to be jealous of someone._

_Okay, well, go ahead and be jealous anyways._

"Yeah, almost three years," Timmy says. "So, where are we going?"

"Have you been to--" Armie starts.

_He just fucking told you that he hasn't been out, alone, with an adult in almost three years. Christ._

\--"It's this bar like two miles away called Dirty Dan's."

"Oh, so this is a classy date, yeah?"

"Dirty Dan doesn't even own it anymore," Armie spits out. He feels like he's sweating. Visibly perspiring. He wipes his hand across his forehead and thanks the high heavens it's dry. When he puts his hand back down, his fingers bump Timmy's. "It was just a town staple and they cleaned it up a lot. We go there sometimes for happy hour with the--"

Their fingers bump again. This time, Armie casually loops a finger around Timmy's. Slides it off slowly.

_Is this casual? Am I being casual? Am I being too casual?_

Their fingers graze again once they reach the stairs, so Armie laces their fingers together. Takes a deep breath and holds it until he feels Timmy's thumb run along the back of his hand. 

"The PTA moms?" Timmy asks and Armie laughs. Timmy is faster than Armie on the stairs, but Armie's arms are longer. When they get to the bottom of the stairwell, Armie reaches to open the door, trying desperately to be the gentleman his mom lectured him into being. And then. 

_Well, hey, wow. This is happening. I like this, we like this, this is good._

And then, Timmy is pushing a hand against his chest. Resting his forehead softly against Armie's collarbone. "Hey," Timmy's body seems to tremble and Armie remembers bouncing knees, bent shoulders. Bank fights and middle fingers and _we're not friends, Armie. Our kids are friends._ "I didn't want to say this back there, but," and then Timmy is tracing his lips up, up, up along Armie's jaw and--

_Breathe._

\--his breath is on Armie's lips. "You look so good tonight."

Armie exhales. Let's out a soft laugh and squeezes Timmy's hand. "Oh?" He hesitates a moment, debates, ponders, lists more synonyms just to give himself a second, then wraps his free arm around Timmy's waist. Pulls him closer, feels him lean up a bit. Imagines him on his tip toes. He doesn't have to bend over. Has that ever happened? Has he ever been this close to someone without having to hunch, to bend, to fit in?

"Yeah," Timmy says, and Armie can see him play with his tongue behind his teeth. Can feel his thighs pressed against his own. The softness of his belly, the stretch of his back as he leans up and presses a kiss to Armie's upper lip. Opens his mouth enough to trace the tip of his tongue along the skin. 

_You are so fucking gone._

Armie pulls Timmy closer still. Fists his hand in Timmy's jacket and opens for Timmy. Lets him take, take, take and even when Armie moans into his mouth, he wants Timmy to take more. He needs him to take it all. 

A door slams. "And then I told Rachel," a voice follows and Timmy pulls back. Armie hears footsteps and the rustle of a garbage bag. "That she can just fuck right off and," the voice gets quieter as it walks away. 

_Open your eyes, you dunce._

Timmy doesn't let go of Armie's hand. Grins up at him. 

"Should I drive?" Armie asks.

Timmy pushes the door open and looks back. Rolls his eyes. "Well, you won't fit in the Burley, Armie."

____

Armie has doubts. At first, it was the Liz factor, which will always be the biggest factor. (Side doubt that he hadn't even thought about: can Timmy handle Liz being a big part of Armie's life? Even though he will never meet her?) Now, it's the age. The way Timmy changes around different people. How he flirts so easily ,but can snap an insult almost easier. How Armie latched onto him after knowing him--or not knowing him--for minutes. How Timmy seemed like a different person, like he changed completely from the time Armie saw him at the bank to the text from the laundromat. How he suddenly is picturing Timmy with some mystery person that Armie hates.

_Wow, you need to keep your eyes on the road. And loosen the grip on the wheel, Psycho._

Timmy slips his hand onto Armie's knee. "So, I have to say," Timmy sighs. Armie can see his chest heave from his peripheral vision. "I'm a bit nervous. I've only been on like. Four dates. Ever. And never with someone I actually like." He says it like he's talking about the weather, but when Armie glances over, Timmy is staring out the window. Curling a finger around a lock of hair. Tugging.

"I didn't ask you out," Armie blurts. 

_Oh, good. You're talking again._

"Nick stole my phone. I was too nervous to ask you out and I don't have a password on my phone because--"

"Because Harper has to get on to play games, clearly," Timmy laughs. "I don't have a password, either."

Armie laughs and slaps the steering wheel. "Exactly! Like, how is that a hard concept to understand?"

They laugh and the silence is comfortable afterwards. Until. Timmy clears his throat. "So, Nick is the one with the daddy kink. Interesting." Taps a finger on Armie's knee.

Armie flashes his eyes sideways. "Wait, you're not actually into that are y--" Yeah, now he's sweating. He casually wipes his forehead, plays it off as a route to fix his hair. Grips the wheeL.

Timmy shrugs. Blinks at Armie. 

Laughs and slaps Armie's knee. "Oh my god, why are you so weird. Seriously."

____

 _Of fucking course,_ Armie cringes when they walk into the bar. _Of fucking course Sharon is here. And Beth. And Judy. Just fucking put me on a fucking raft, set me on fire, and ship me out to--_

"Are you fucking kidding me with this." It's not a question. Timmy rolls his eyes. "They're like the plague. Whatever," he says and puts a hand on the small of Armie's back. Pushes him towards the bar and grabs the last two stools available. 

Armie tries not to look, but he can see the PTA moms watching them. He gives a slight nod--just being polite--and then sits next to Timmy. 

"Don't even try to order, your water beer is terrible," Timmy says, as he seeks out the bartender's eyes and nods at her. She's cute, young. Blond. Tattoos along her left arm and Armie imagines this would be Timmy's type if he was--

Well. 

_If he wasn't with you. Right now, he chose you so shut your dumb face. He kissed you in the stairwell, he put his hand on your knee in the truck, and he is ordering you beer, so shut up._

"Should we get a pitcher?" Timmy asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer. Asks the bartender, "What's on your rotating tap?"

She leans over and Armie half listens as she rattles off a list of beers Armie has never heard of, all the while she is grinning at Timmy. He looks back and the PTA moms are leaning in, whispering and Sharon looks over once, twice, before rolling her eyes and walking over to them. She puts her hand on Armie's shoulder. "Why don't you and the kid join us?"

Timmy tells the bartender, "We'll get a pitcher of the Deschutes, thanks," absently slips his ID across the bar (Armie can barely remember the last time he was carded, and this makes him feel old. Older. Fuck.), and then turns to Sharon. Slides his hand high on Armie's thigh. "We're on a date, Sharon."

_____

Armie learns three new things in the first hour. 

1\. Timmy talks with his hands. Maybe Armie just never noticed because, normally, Timmy's hands were preoccupied with the twins. But he's expressive and long. Graceful. Armie does not, for any reason, think about what those hands--those fingers, that palm--might be good for. 

2\. Timmy is very handsy with said graceful hands. In a way that Armie wasn't expecting, but oh God does he appreciate it. At one point, Timmy gets up to go to the bathroom and when he comes back, he scoots his stool a bit closer to Armie's. Rests his hand on Armie's inner thigh nonchalantly and Armie hopes his reaction isn't that of a fourteen year old buy, but he's pretty sure it is. 

3\. Timmy has been through some shit.

Armie takes a sip of his beer and sets it back down. "Okay, so I get the parent thing, but can I ask one more question?"

"Armie," Timmy starts. His lips are red and his eyelids a bit heavier than when they first started drinking. Timmy is likely crossing the drunk line and Armie doesn't want that, so he asks the bartender for some waters. "I just told you that my parents called my children the biggest fuck up--of a long line of fuck ups--that I made. And then I skipped my graduation to pack my kids up and move out of their house." He reaches for the pitcher and tops off Armie's beer. "You can ask me anything." 

Their waters come and Timmy takes a long drink. Armie doesn't watch his throat. The way his Adams apple bobs. 

"You don't have to answer, okay?" Armie reaches for his beer and brings it to his lips, ready to give himself a reason not to speak if things get awkward. Ready to drink away the awkwardness. "Why do you like me?"

_You don't get carded, yet you act like a fucking middle schooler._

There's silence, and then there's Silence. With the bar full, with glasses clanking and voices vibrating and music louder than it needs to be, everything is Silent. He waits for a sharp remark, maybe, "Who said I like you?" Instead, Timmy clears his throat and stares down at the bar. "I've never had to impress you. I've always had to prove that I can take care of my kids, do twice as much work to show I'm just as good at this as any other parent. But I never had to prove that to you. Or I didn't feel that way, at least. Maybe I'm wrong." He looks up and tucks his hair behind his ear. Runs his thumb along his throat, draws it under the collar of his shirt. "And you just seemed good. Nice. So, even if I didn't know anything about you, I felt comfortable having my kids around you." Timmy finishes off his beer and twists on the stool. Cracks his back. "Anyways, how come I've never been in this hardware store of yours?"

Armie doesn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't that. 

"We could go to the hardware store right now," Armie says. "I can give you the grand tour."  
_____

Timmy lets Armie pay. 

"I mean, you did ask me out," Timmy jokes. He stands behind Armie at the bar, traces designs on his back. "Or, Nick did."

____

They skip the grand tour. 

Timmy ends up sitting on the counter with Armie between his legs. Legs spread, one hand in Armie's hair. The other under his shirt, fingers sharp against Armie's ribs. His mouth rushes from neck to jaw, lips, never staying anywhere long enough for Armie to latch on to a memory. 

Armie's knuckles are white as he clutches the counter next to Timmy's knees. Afraid to put his hands on him, to speed time up, to make it stop. Terrified that he could slide his hand up the back of Timmy's shirt and Timmy would flinch, would push him away. He lets Timmy take everything. 

Timmy takes. 

He scoots forward on the counter and, at this angle, Timmy above, Armie feels this urge to be taller, to surge up on his toes and take Timmy over. Until, God, until Timmy pulls back and his hands move to Armie's cheeks. "Armie," his chest is rapidly rising. Shakily falling. He scans Armie's face. "I haven't done, like, I don't know what I'm--"

Armie shakes his head and clutches the counter harder. He's sure there will be indents on his palms when he finally, eventually lets go. "It's okay, it's been like, two years since I--"

"No," Timmy touches his forehead to Armie's. "I've never," his breath ghosts Armie's face in puffs and he's still alcohol, cigarettes, but faintly Armie as well. "With a guy. And only twice with--"

"We can just do this."

_This is good, this is nice, this is better than Armie imagined._

Timmy shakes his head. Frantic. 

"Well, we can stop, too, if you--"

Timmy pushes forward even more and Armie can feel his cock hard against his abs. "Take me upstairs." His voice sounds like someone else, someone who knows what they want, and Armie steps back, trying not to get lost in this. 

"Seriously, we don't," he starts, but Timmy is already sliding off the counter. Wrapping an arm around Armie and looking up at him. Leaning into him. 

"Well, I want to. But if you don't."

"So, you want the grand tour of the apartment, too?" Armie asks and leads him to the stairs. "So needy."

He takes him by the hand and pretends he doesn't hear Timmy whisper, "You have no idea."

_____

Armie reminds Timmy they can go slow. 

(They can watch a movie. Have another beer. They can just talk, they can make out on the couch that is bigger than Timmy's, they can make cookies. They can ask more questions, get more answers.)

He says it with words, he says it by offering Timmy a beer, some coffee, water. 

But Timmy unzips his jacket, tosses it on the back of the couch. Glides to the bedroom and makes himself comfortable on Armie's bed. By the time Armie gets there, Timmy is spread out, eyes closed and he fears for a moment that Timmy has just passed out. It's time for sleep, date night is over. Then he groans. "Oh my God. I haven't been in a real bed in like. Years." He props himself up on his elbows. Wiggles his toes. "Do you see how my feet don't dangle off the end?" he asks with mock wonder. 

Armie stands at the foot of the bed, grabs Timmy's ankle. "I see that." He peels Timmy's sock off. Runs his thumb across his ankle. Pushes his pant leg up an inch, two inches, three, maybe more. Kisses his leg. Drops his foot and reaches for the other to repeat the action. 

"Hey," Timmy whispers when Armie removed the other sock. "Those are my business socks." 

Armie pauses with his lips against Timmy's leg. Shifts his gaze up to Timmy's eyes. "Your what now?"

Timmy laughs and pulls his leg back. "It's from a dumb TV show, nevermind." 

_God, he's playful. Horny Timmy is playful and I love it, I love it, I love it. I love._

Armie rolls his eyes. Pulls his shirt over his head. Balls it up and throws it into the hamper before crawling on top of Timmy, pressing his face against his neck. "Tell me if you need me to stop," Armie whispers. Kisses the crook of his neck, smiles when he nips at the skin and Timmy cocks his head to the side to give Armie more space. 

Overwhelmed is an understatement. Timmy reacts to everything. His abs tighten when Armie slips a hand under his shirt, he pushes it up around Timmy's armpits. Giggles when Armie moves to his sternum, kissing along his shallow chest, tasting him every few inches but wanting to taste all of him. Jerks a bit when Armie sinks his teeth, barely, softly, into his belly. 

Timmy's whole body freezes when Armie's hands move to the button on Timmy's pants. "Sorry, sorry," Timmy whispers. 

Armie looks up. Timmy is staring at the ceiling, one hand gripping the comforter. The other delicately tracing lines along his neck. "Don't stop, please. I'm sorry."

And then Armie is pushing Timmy's pants down to his thighs. Tugs his boxers down.

Armie can't remember the last time he had a cock in his mouth and he definitely can't remember the face attached to the cock. "I haven't," Armie wraps a loose fist around Timmy's cock and his back arches at the light touch. That's all it takes for Armie to need to reach down and palm himself through his pants. "In, like, a long time." He strokes Timmy, and when he looks up again, Timmy is propped up on his elbows. Shirt still rucked under his armpits. Mouth open, tongue pushing in and out of his mouth, wetting his lower lip again and again. There's almost too much to take in: the small crease on his belly, the harsh angles of his collar bones, the way his biceps flex, just barely. 

"What?" That look, that embarrassed look flashes across Timmy's face and Armie speaks before it has any chance of staying. 

"I just like the way you look," he whispers before taking Timmy in his mouth and sinking down, down, down, while Timmy falls back against the pillows and groans from deep in his chest. 

Armie wasn't expecting the noises Timmy would make. What had he expected? Probably a lot of talking, cursing. Timmy seems like the type who won't shut up in bed, and Armie was looking forward to that. He's not disappointed, not in the least bit, when Timmy makes these noises that emanate from the back of his throat, like soft chokes and gasps that he's afraid to let past his lips, each sound amplified by the twitch of his abs, his thighs. The press of a knee against Armie's side. 

Armie pulls off, starts jerking Timmy off. Rests his cheek against his inner thigh. "Timmy, you can touch me, you know," Armie says before settling on his stomach, giving himself the bed to rut against as he sucks on the head of Timmy's cock, giving his jaw a rest. He wants Timmy to touch him, to thread his fingers through his hair and show him what he wants, to just take what he wants. 

Timmy keeps his hands to himself and lets out a string of heavy breathes that almost sound like he's holding back tears until he jerks, hard, and Armie chokes. Pulls back, but not off and--

_I want you to fuck my mouth, I want you to fuck my mouth, I want you to fuck my mouth,_

\--then slides back down, taking Timmy as deep as he can. Armie feels sixteen, literally humping the mattress and he might come like this, would have no problem sleeping under a dirty comforter as a result, except Timmy's hands are suddenly on his shoulders and he's whispering, "I'm going to come," over and over, hands pushing at Armie, pushing, and Armie doesn't understand, doesn't get it, until he's tasting Timmy's cum in his mouth, on his lips. He swallows what he can, and gives a few halfhearted licks while Timmy says, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I said I was going to--"

_Oh._

Armie brings himself to his knees, starts working on pulling his pants down. "I wanted you to come in my mouth, Timmy. It's okay," he says and pushes his pants off. Awkwardly squirms between Timmy's legs until all of his clothes are off, then kneels back between Timmy's legs. 

"Oh," Timmy heaves, and his hands are over his eyes. "I didn't, I don't, fuck." He looks at Armie between his fingers. Slowly lowers his hands to his sides. Pushes himself to a seated position and it's weird, with Timmy's pants still partway on, trying to find a comfortable way to push forward and kiss him. Armie doesn't push it, but when Timmy opens his mouth, he presses his tongue in. Lets Timmy taste himself, taste the beer on Armie's tongue, taste this night. 

When Armie sits back on his haunches, Timmy just stares at him. Bites his lip. Darts his eyes from Armie's eyes to his cock. "Armie, I," Timmy says. Looks over Armie's shoulder.

Armie aches. He reaches down and starts jerking himself off, rough, not sure if Timmy is okay with anything after that. More nervous than on the drive to the bar because Timmy seems more nervous. 

"Timmy? Are you okay?" Armie stops. Just holds his cock while he waits for Timmy to look at him. To talk. Anything. 

Timmy nods, but his eyes are on the door behind Armie. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm great." His chest is still heaving. "I just," he rubs his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm just nervous."

"Hey, Timmy, I'm going to go to the bathroom," Armie says and starts to get to his knees. Starts to get up, but then Timmy's eyes lock on his and he looks embarrassed. 

_Don't say it. Don't fucking say it. Go to the bathroom, jerk off, then come back and talk about this with a clear head and don't fucking say--_

"Do you want to watch me?"

_You fucking said it. Great. Nice._

There was Silence at the bar and now there is SILENCE. 

And then a nod. And a soft, "Yes." Timmy pulls his legs up, somehow shimmies out of his pants. Tosses them on the ground. Sits cross-legged. Pulls a pillow over his lap. 

"Timmy, remember what I said about telling me if you want to stop?"

"I want to watch you," Timmy whispers, and he looks nervous but not terrified and Armie sprawls backwards, props himself up on one arm so he can see Timmy. 

"I could do more than jerk off, if you want," Armie says, and even he is surprised when it comes out. He has lube in his bedside that he doesn't use often, but sometimes. He's in no hurry now. 

When Timmy blushes. When his eyelashes flutter and he has to look away and smile. Then back at Armie. When he says, "Maybe later," Armie starts to stroke himself. 

"Maybe later," Armie repeats. 

It's not going to last long because he's been silently wanting this for weeks. Has imagined what Timmy tastes like, what he sounds like. How his cock feels. But now he knows, and it's too much, so when Timmy asks, "Can I kiss you?" and doesn't wait for an answer, just slides between Armie's legs and kisses his neck, Armie is gone. 

_____

Later, after they've showered (separately) and Timmy is swimming in one of Armie's t-shirts, they lie in bed. Armie has his arm around Timmy's waist, his head on his shoulder. One leg tucked between Timmy's. "Remember when we were at the bar, and you said that you like how awesome I am and that's why you like me?" Armie asks. 

Timmy's chest vibrates with a chuckle. "Yeah," he says. His voice is hoarse. Tired. His hand is tracing loops on Armie's bare back. It feels like cursive. 

"And you said you liked that you were comfortable with me being around your kids?" He feels Timmy nod. "I like that. I like us."

Timmy's cursive stops. He taps an ellipsis. "Okay," he says. "I'm really tired, Armie." 

"Yeah," Armie sighs and kisses the closest skin he can find.  
_____

In the morning, Timmy is on the couch. Dressed in his clothes again, hair flat on one side, a nest of curls on the other. "Morning," Armie says as he walks to the kitchen. Thinks twice about it and doubles back to the living room. Leans over the back of the couch and presses a kiss to the top of Timmy's head. "You're up early." 

"Yeah," Timmy nods and Armie pauses. Notices the bounce of Timmy's knee. A thumb in his mouth that muffles his voice. Armie can almost hear him chewing.

Armie goes to the kitchen and starts coffee. "Did you not sleep okay?"

"No, it was fine." 

He's getting low on filters; after he presses 'Start' he finds his shopping list. Scrawls 'coffee filters.' Looks across the apartment to the back of Timmy's head. In small, neat script, writes, 'condoms.' Like he'd forget. 

"I thought we could have a cup of coffee before we head over," Armie says. Opens the cupboard and pulls out two mugs. 

Timmy is on his feet. Barefoot. "Do you know this is the first time I've spent the night away from my kids? Like, I've worked overnights doing inventory, but I always go home." 

Armie sets the mugs down. Leans back against the counter. 

"And when they asked me what I was doing tonight, I said you and I were going out with friends and, last night, when you fell asleep, I just laid there coming up with an excuse as to why I didn't come home." He's in the kitchen now and his entire body is a seismic wave. "And all I could come up with was that your truck broke down, but that's stupid because we live close enough that I could've walked. And they're six, but they're not stupid."

Armie crosses his arms over his chest. Nods. "Okay?" He thinks that's a great response, considering he has no idea what the actual fuck is going on. 

"And, you're thirty-one, okay?" Timmy's voice changes. It's high and frantic. "You were married. You were married for longer than I have had kids. You were married and you chose to have a kid. And you have raised her really well, and she's great. Harper is great. But I'm like," Timmy holds a hand against his cheek. "I"m like, this fuck up that has six year old twins at twenty-two and I am saving ten dollars at a time to enroll in fucking community college."

"Timmy," Armie says, and takes a step forward. Only a step. He scratches his neck. 

"Like, I've started saving for college for my kids, but it's never going to be anything. They'll always struggle, and here I am, fucking around with you."

Fucking.  
Around.  
With.

You.

Armie licks his lips and leans back against the counter. The coffee is done. "Timmy, I think we should sit down and talk," Armie says before he actually says what he wants to. He can hear Harper talking about his anger. Can hear Liz. 

"And then you act like there is an _us_ last night. I like the way you act with my children, but we're not a fucking family. I can't just, expect them to understand that this person they like might not be there the next day. What if we break up? What if they grow to love you and Harper and then you're gone? Okay? What would Harper think?"

_Just don't. Just don't talk and let him have his moment._  
_~~Don't fucking tell me what I think about this.~~ _

"What then? And I don't even know what to do with all of this, Armie!" He gestures between them. "I couldn't even jerk you off last night. I was fucking terrified to touch your cock and you were talking about doing even more, and I don't even know what to do. It's humiliating." Timmy stands by the door. He sits down and starts lacing up his chucks, and Armie can only think about how annoying that must feel against his bare feet. "Like, I'm just a fucking stupid kid and you've had an entire life and I just have these two kids that I'm fucking barely taking care of and I hate it and I hate this and I--"

"Timmy. Tim. You are just having a," Armie steps closer. He wants to hold him. He wants to touch his jaw and his cheek, he wants to kiss his forehead. Instead, he turns off the coffee machine and says, "I know how it feels to be overwhelmed like this, okay? My wife died, and she was the one who made all of this," he swirls his pointer finger to the apartment, "work. I didn't know what I was doing. You were even worse off and you have made it work. With two kids, okay? And you get to enjoy being a human, even with two kids, okay? What we did last night was okay."

Timmy finishes lacing his shoes. He ties a knot and stands up. "What we did last night was not okay, and I should have been home with my kids. I shouldn't have been trying to make things happen that won't last." 

Armie keeps it together until Timmy speaks again. 

"This is just not going to work, ever. I'd really like to go home."

Armie walks to the bedroom and puts on the closest things resembling an outfit he can find. He walks out, finds his keys. 

"Yeah, I'd really like you to go the fuck home, too."

_____  
The truck ride is silent. Armie doesn't turn on the radio for fear some shitty pop song would come on that was too happy or, god forbid, too lame for Timmy and his stupid fucking band shirts. He'd probably snort and roll his eyes. Make a snide comment under his breath. 

_You really need to pull it together. Calm down and park the truck. Just talk._

Morning after Timmy sucks. 

The truck ride is silent until they pull up to Timmy's apartment. Armie puts the truck in park. "Tell Nick and Harper I'm down here." Timmy does that stupid--

_You've already used the door twice, so you shouldn't be this dumb and it's not cute like it was the first time._

_Okay, it is. God damnit._

\--thing people do in strange vehicles where they fumble for the door handle, which gives Armie a chance to get one last line in. "And, start wearing a fucking helmet. You've done a great job of pushing everyone out of your kids' life, so maybe make sure they have a dad at least." 

_Fuck, that was too far, Armie. This is worse than the time Liz said your mom was being rude during a dinner party and you hissed, "don't be a fucking bitch all the time, then" in the heat of the moment._

Timmy finds the handle. Slams the door and Armie doesn't watch as he walks to the apartment. Definitely doesn't watch as he paces in the stairwell. As he sits on the bottom step and folds his arms across his knees, buries his head in his elbow. As his body shakes. 

_This fucking kid._

Armie's fingers toy with the keys and he can almost feel himself turning the ignition. He wants to turn the ignition off and go to Timmy. Tell him how stupid he's being, how stupid they're both being. How it was just too much all at once and they can go as slow as they need, that they can be friends as long as they need. 

"Yeah," Armie nods, and he turns the ignition. But, when he gets out of the truck, the staircase is empty. He gets back in the car and waits for Nick, who comes out minutes later holding Harper, her head on his shoulder and his eyes wide. He mouths, 'What the _fuck_ ,' before opening the back and putting Harper in her car seat. She's groggy. 

"Did you have fun, Hops?" Armie reaches back. Rubs her knee. She nods and falls asleep before Nick even has his seat belt on. Armie glares at him. "Don't."

Nick raises his hands in defeat. "I'm not saying anything." Armie starts the car and pulls out of the lot. "But, if I _were_ going to say something, I'd say that you two are exhausting."

_____

Armie isn't expecting Timmy to text, and he doesn't. He doesn't expect him to slowly bike by the hardware store to see if Armie is working, and he doesn't. He doesn't expect to see Timmy on Monday morning, and he doesn't. And he doesn't fucking expect Timmy to walk in during the middle of the PTA meeting, wearing black jeans and his black v-neck, holding a shiny new helmet, and slide right into an empty chair. 

But he does. 

"The meeting started--" Beth starts. Stops when Timmy shoots her a look. Armie's mouth is dry and he almost drops his pencil. Beth changes her tune. "We're signing up for bake sale shifts."

"Okay," Timmy says. He slouches and stares at the helmet on his desk.

Armie stares at the schedule in front of him. "Right, so," he clears his throat and scoots back on the desk. His feet are still firmly planted on the ground, and he can only think of Timmy on the edge of the counter, legs dangling, hands gripping, lips--

_Fuck._

_\--everywhere._

"So, we have the eight A.M. shift with me and the noon shift with Sharon." 

Timmy looks up and Armie didn't know he could feel a glare in his toes, but here he is, curling his toes up in his boots and trying to breathe. "Sign me up for noon. With Sharon." 


	8. Chapter 8

"So this," Nick gestures at Armie, who is leaning against the counter, holding a plate of baked goods. He's halfway through a brownie and a tiny remnant of a rice krispy treat is stuck to his stubble. "Is pathetic. You realize that, right?"

"Fuck you," Armie says before shoving the rest of the brownie in his mouth. Wipes crumbs away with the back of his hand. It's noon and his bake sale shift has been done for an hour. 

Nick places the empty deposit bag under the counter and reaches for a sugar cookie shaped like a dinosaur. Armie yanks the plate away. Murmurs, "Not the dinosaurs." There seems to be more dinosaurs than anything and his cheeks burn red. He swallows and runs his tongue over his teeth, focusing on a canine for a moment before grabbing a dinosaur. Nick takes a no-bake. 

"This just got even more pathetic. Did he make the dinosaurs?"

Armie shakes his head. Chomps the head off the T-Rex. Shrugs. "Maybe."

____

Timmy didn't even drop the cookies off, for the fucking record. He rode up, balancing the cookies in one hand and steering with the other--and wearing the helmet-- parked the bike and _enlisted the help of the twins to carry them over to Armie._ It wasn't raining like last year, so he was able to set up outside the school and all morning had thought, _He can't avoid me, like he has done for the last two weeks._

Well, yes, he can. And he did. 

"Thanks, guys," Armie said, taking the plate and placing it next to Sharon's fucking rhubarb buckles. 

_God Damnit, Sharon. No one wants rhubarb buckles._

They ran back to Timmy, who was wearing a black Operation Ivy hoodie and why does Armie know this. He doesn't even know this stupid band but he knows that the arms are slightly too short on Timmy, so he always pushes them up. Knows the pocket is torn a bit in the corner and there is a cigarette burn near the hood. Armie didn't even try to hide his gaze as Timmy grabbed the twins' hands and walked into the school. 

Not that it would matter because Timmy didn't so much as glance his way. 

_____

Like everything else, Timmy is a good baker. Armie was hoping the cookie would be dry. Maybe even store bought. But it is soft, just-dense-enough, and delicious. 

"So, are you ever going to tell me exactly what happened?" Nick is almost done with his third chocolate chip cookie. "Because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm really good at other people's relationships." 

Armie rolls his eyes. "You said, and I quote 'Hemingway-esque' details only, if I recall."

Nick flexes his fingers. Cracks his neck. "Okay, hit me with some Dickens, or something. I can always bleach my ears after this."

Armie double checks that no customers are in the store. Sets down the plate and gives a rundown of events, leaving out some things like when he offered to finger himself, too, if Timmy wanted to watch that and--

_Seriously, SERIOUSLY, you offered that. You didn't say it, but you kinda did and who the fuck says that on a first date? "Hey, do you want to watch me jerk off, and while we're here, grab that lube so I can just look like a fucking slut, is that cool, Mr. I've Never Been With a Man?"_

\--how he tried to get Timmy to shower with him, but thank God didn't press the matter and waited for him to finish instead. 

Halfway through, Nick is pacing back and forth, scratching his head. Every now and then pulling a face that is somewhere between "Oh, God, we used to play T-Ball together," and "Wow, I'm best friends with a fucking moron."

When Armie finishes, Nick leans against a car battery display. Licks his lips, opens his mouth. Starts to use his hands to talk, but no words come out of his mouth. 

"Was it that bad?" Armie asks, his voice low. "Fuck."

"No!" Nick shakes his head. "Okay, yes. Mainly when you told him you'd like him to, how did you phrase it? 'go the fuck home, too?; Because that would have been a great time to like, oh, I don't know. Tell him you can slow down, that maybe he should go back to his kids for the day. You can call him after they go to bed. Something, you know, rational." 

"That's easy for you to say now. Okay? I just," Armie shrugs. "I've tried so fucking hard to be understanding, but he's like a different person every time I see him."

"No, I get that," Nick nods. "But, he also just fucked a guy for the first time. I'd be having a meltdown, too, and I don't have kids to think about."

"We didn't fuck."

Nick scoffs and nods. "Yeah, so, I wasn't going to say it, but asking someone if they want to watch you jerk off? Weird."

"He said yes! And he kissed me." Armie looks around for something to hide in. He knows Nick is right. Nick takes this moment to snatch a dinosaur cookie and bite the tail off. "Fuck. And then I basically said I want our families to become an 'us.'" 

Nick chokes on the tail. Coughs to clear his throat. "What." Nick takes a deep breath. Another bite. Swallows and finally looks like his thoughts are composed. "Okay, first? These cookies are amazing, so we need to get you back on his good side. Second? I have a plan."

_____

The plan is not supposed to go like this. 

It's Timmy and Sharon's shift and Armie is supposed to buy cookies to give to customers. 

(Fact: Nick wanted more cookies, but it sounded more believable this way.)

In theory, the plan seemed perfect. Armie goes to get the cookies, explains he needs them for the store so it doesn't look like he's trying to corner Timmy. He doesn't even have to talk to Timmy; he can talk to Sharon. 

Except, Armie walks up to the table, which seems to be in an after-lunch lull, and Timmy and Sharon are laughing. Like, not at one another, either. And not politely. Full on laughing. Sharon has a hand on her stomach like it hurts and Timmy is using his sleeve to wipe tears from his eyes as he tries to get words out. As Armie walks closer, he realizes he's never heard this story. Realizes he's never seen Timmy laugh like this. "So," Timmy gasps, and he doesn't seem to know Armie is walking up. "I'm trying to explain to Elliot that priests don't bring people back to life," he lets out a stuttering breath, like he's trying to calm himself. "And the priest is just staring at me, and then Olivia says," he pauses. Swallows deeply, "She says, 'Yeah, Elliot, only Dr. Frankenstein does that,' and then just walks away."

Sharon hoots. Slaps her knee and it's really annoying. "What's so funny?" Armie asks, reaching for his wallet. 

"Oh, Armie," Sharon says, taking deep breaths as her laughter dies down. "You never told me your boyfriend is so--"

"Not his boyfriend, Sharon." Timmy says quickly. He still has a smile on his lips, but his eyes are focused on the table. "Our kids are friends, but we don't really," he shrugs. 

Sharon stands up straight and places a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought. The other week, you said," she blushes. 

"We were just joking," Armie says. "Nick wanted me to get cookies for the store. For customers." He drops a ten dollar bill in front of Timmy. "He specifically asked for mainly dinosaur cookies, but it doesn't really matter." 

Sharon, for once in her life, realizes the tension in this situation and says, "Timmy, you are too much. I'll be right back, okay?" She touches his shoulder, and it's motherly. It's kind. It's very much like Sharon, but Timmy doesn't flinch. Nods. As she walks away, she shoots a look at Armie. 

_Great. Even Sharon hates me now._

"Can they all go on one plate?" Timmy asks as he starts piling baked goods on a plate. 

Armie nods. He doesn't care that Timmy isn't using the deli gloves like he's supposed to. That his hair is in his face and there's a half eaten rhubarb buckle in front of him, not even on a napkin. "Listen," Armie starts. 

"No," Timmy cuts him off. 

"I'm sorry, okay?"

Timmy reaches under the table for some plastic wrap. Easily covers the plate heaped with cookies; tosses the money into the cash box. "You have nothing to be sorry about, okay? I'm the one who wanted to go upstairs, I'm the one who," he looks up at Armie. Actually looks at him, not near him, but at him and Armie almost forgot how unforgiving Timmy's eyes can be. Almost. "Who freaked out, and you just responded to that. It's fine."

Armie doesn't pick up the cookies. Once he picks up the cookies, he has no reason to be standing here anymore. "Can I get one of your cookies for the road?" He digs out two quarters from his pocket and throws them in the cash box. "It's not fine, by the way. I shouldn't have responded the way I did. Also, you're a really good baker." He takes the cookie from Timmy's hand. 

_You're a really good baker. You're a really good baker? I can't._

"Thanks. Your brownies are good, but next time don't put frosting." Timmy starts to straighten plates and tupperware. Armie notices that he glances back at the school, like he's dying for Sharon to come back. Armie's plate of cookies is still between them and Timmy pushes it closer to Armie. Right on the edge of the table. "Listen, if you're here because you're worried I regret what we did," Timmy whispers, "I don't regret it. At all. This," he gestures between them, "Just isn't something I'm good at." 

Armie nods. Picks up the plate of cookies and walks back to his truck. There are a lot of things he wants to say, but he just takes a bite of the cookie instead. 

_____

The bake sale is a success. They make enough money to buy Ms. Cole a new desk chair. The customers love the cookies and every time someone takes a dinosaur cookie, Armie wants to slap their hand. He doesn't. But he wants to. 

_____

Harper wants to be a construction worker for Halloween and Armie is floored. "A what?" he asks as they are driving back to the hardware store. Last year, she wanted to be Elsa. The year before? A fairy. 

"Well, Olivia said that she's going to be a scientist and _wanted_ to be Anna, but then she said Anna wasn't real, and she's right. I want to be a construction worker."

Armie doesn't know what to make of that. "Honey, it's Halloween. You don't have to be something real, that's the whole point."

"Well, I want to be a construction worker." 

Armie shrugs. "Well, what should I go as then?" 

"Elliot says his daddy is going as lumberjack. Maybe you could be a tree." 

Armie looks at her in the rearview mirror. "A tree? Why would I go as a tree?"

"So you would match, Dad." She rolls her eyes and he is not prepared for eye rolling. Nope. He thought he had a few years before the eye rolling kicked in. 

"What if I go as a hardware store employee?" Armie smiles. 

"Boring." Harper looks out the window. Crosses her arms. 

_____

The Friday before Halloween, Armie's phone rings. Armie is about to start dinner and debates ignoring the call. It's probably his mom, who tries to check in at least once a week; he's very good at being extremely busy once a week. 

He glances at the phone. Timmy. 

_It's probably a butt dial._

Armie's thumb hovers over 'accept.' Quickly switches to 'decline.'

He goes to the cupboard and pulls down a pot. Starts filling it with water. "Harper, do you want spaghetti or mac and cheese?"

Harper looks up from the couch, where she is watching _Brave_ on Armie's tablet. "Mac and cheese. Can you put peas in it?"

Armie checks the panty and grabs a can of peas and a box of Kraft. His phone rings again. 

Timmy. 

This time, he takes a deep breath. Presses 'Accept.'

"Yeah?"

Timmy sounds out of breath. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an emergency, but my babysitter just crapped out on me and I have to work tonight because rent is due tomorrow so I can't call in and. I just. Fuck," he whispers and there's rustling in the background. "Would you be able to watch the twins tonight? I can pay you. I can bring them to your place. Or, is Nick free? I'm sorry, I wouldn't ask if it--"

"Timmy, yeah." Armie shuts off the water. Empties the pot. "We can be there in like ten minutes. Have the twins eaten?"

"No, I'm trying to get their dinner ready and get ready for work and--"

Armie leans against the counter and snaps his fingers at Harper. "Harper, turn off the movie and get your shoes on. Timmy, get ready for work. I will make dinner for them when I get there."

Timmy's voice cracks and Armie can see him tugging at a curl, bouncing his knee. Biting his lip as he says, "Thanks. Thank you."

____

Timmy answers the door wearing his black jeans, checkered slip-ons, and nothing else. "Hey," he breathes out. "It's a disaster here, I'm sorry." 

"It's not a--" Armie says as he walks in. He's holding the box of Kraft and peas because he was unsure if Timmy would have food. "It's a bit of a disaster," Armie jokes. He ushers Harper in. "Shoes," he says as he kicks off his own and places them next to the door. 

"Yeah, I'm aware," Timmy rolls his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "Sorry, it's been a long day and I didn't get a chance to--" he waves around the apartment. The couch is covered in folded laundry, the dishes are overflowing in the kitchen sink. There are toys everywhere. "I was sending in applications when they were at school and I just," Timmy shrugs. "Lost track of time." He walks to the couch and looks through a pile of darks until he finds a black t-shirt. Armie doesn't let himself stare until Timmy is pulling the shirt on. Armie's ribs jut out for a moment before they're covered by fabric. 

_Applying to schools. Jesus._

His hair is getting long and Timmy pulls it up quickly, using a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. 

"Where's ElliotOlivia?" Harper asks. She has the tablet in her hand. 

"Oh!" Timmy exclaims. "Honey, I'm sorry, I forgot. They're in their room." 

"It is okay if they watch _Brave_ while I make dinner?" Armie asks. 

Timmy nods and Harper runs to the bedroom. 

Timmy is a tornado walking around the apartment. Listing everything as he grabs it. "Wallet. Keys. Chapstick. Cigarettes. Cigarettes?" He spins around, then locates them on top of the refrigerator. "Lighter. Okay." 

Armie moves to the kitchen and sets down the food. "Hey," he says when he sees that Timmy looks a bit strung out. Stressed. He's never seen him this way. "Take a breath." 

Timmy looks up at him. "Sorry, I'm just really annoyed with the babysitter."

"Don't be sorry. You know," Armie takes a step closer to him. He wants to put a hand on his hip, his waist. His wrist. "I don't mind doing this, okay? If you ever need--"

Timmy holds up a hand. "Can we not? Right now? Please." His shoulder rise and fall. "Thank you. For helping. If you need anything, I have my phone, but it may be busy, so calling the bar might be better." 

"We'll be fine," Armie says and then shoos him out the door. 

____

While the kids eat, Armie does the dishes. Lets them air dry and eats leftovers from everyone's plates. "Have you guys taken a bath?" Armie asks. They have, and Armie is pretty sure they're lying, but he lets them get into pajamas anyways. He reads them "Make Way for Ducklings and they fall asleep, limbs over limbs in one bed. 

Armie puts clothes away. There's a learning curve because Timmy has his clothes under Olivia's bed in Rubbermaid containers and the twins have two dressers; one in their closet and the other just outside the bedroom. 

He cleans up toys, sweeps the kitchen. Wipes down counters and checks on the shower. It's clean, but he cleans it anyways, just in case. Notices that the faucet is leaky and is searching for a wrench when the front door opens. 

"Hey," he says, closing the junk drawer. Timmy closes the door. Presses back against it and looks around. Rolls his eyes. "Do you have a wrench?" 

"Why did you do this?" He waves around the apartment. "I was going to--" he presses his middle finger and thumb against his temples. Kicks off his shoes. "I didn't ask you to clean my fucking--"

"Well, I did, so do you have a wrench? Your faucet is leaking and it's annoying as shit." 

_Smooth._

Armie leans against the counter. Watches as Timmy sighs. Closes his eyes and starts digging things out of his pockets. Walks to the living room and places items on the counter. Cigarette, lighter, chapstick, phone, keys. Wallet. "I don't." 

He walks to the bedroom and Armie follows. Watches from the doorway as Timmy walks in, leans down and kisses Olivia's forehead. Elliot's forehead. Runs a hand over Harper's back. Makes sure they're all tucked in. Shuts the door and brushes by Armie to walk back to the counter. He grabs his wallet and pulls out a few bills, then walks to Armie, who doesn't know where to go. "Here," Timmy says, folding the bills in half and pushing them towards Armie's chest. He looks down. 

"Don't be like this," Armie whispers, and pushes the money away. 

There's a moment where Timmy tries to push the money back to him, but Armie walks away. Goes to the living room and sits on the couch. He knows if he stays too close, he'll do something stupid. Say something stupid. Something too much, too far, whether it's positive or negative. 

"Do you want to sleep in the other bed? They seem to have taken over Olivia's, so," Timmy sighs and walks to the kitchen. Puts the money away. "I mean, obviously, you can go home, I was just thinking it'd be easier if--"

"You never asked me," Armie blurts out. He looks over at Timmy, who is standing outside the kitchen. "I asked you why you like me, but you never asked me, and I never got to tell you. So even if this," he gestures between them, "Turns out to be nothing, I just want you to know."

Timmy takes his hair down. Scratches his scalp with both hands before pulling his hair back again. Walks over to the couch and sits down, keeping space between them. 

Armie can't help but remember what happened on this couch, weeks ago. The way Timmy spoke, the way he looked. The embarrassment. The aftermath. 

Timmy sits cross-legged on the corner of the couch and rests his elbow on his knee. His head on his head. Stares at Armie. "Why, then?" He closes his eyes. Keeps them closed. "Why did you like me?"

Armie folds his hands behind his head. Stretches his legs out and stares at the ceiling. "Because you're a bit of an asshole, and I like that. You flipped me off, but you made sure my kid didn't see it. Because I remember myself at twenty-two and I was a complete mess and shouldn't have been trusted with a house plant, let alone twins, and you're here, making the rest of us look mediocre. Because you're funny, even when you don't mean to be. Because I don't know a lot of things about you, but I want to know more all the time." 

_Don't press your luck. Just leave it. Just leave it._

"And, it doesn't hurt that you're nice to look at. Oh, and you are adaptable."

Timmy snorts. "Adaptable?" He opens his eyes and looks over at Armie as he lowers his eyes. Meets his stare. "The fuck does that mean?"

Armie shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. "It's the nice way of saying I don't know what to expect with you because you're a different person all the time. But, I like that. I like all the different Timmy's, except the one who texts 'k.' You shouldn't do that. It's rude."

Timmy laughs. An actual belly laugh. "What?"

Armie sits forward, rests his elbows on his knees. "When you text 'k.' it makes me so nervous. Like, I don't know what that means." 

Timmy sits up, turns so he's leaning against the arm of the couch. Stretches his feet out slowly, presses his heels against Armie's thigh. "Usually, it means I don't know what to say. Or I think I've said too much already." Armie sits back. Lets Timmy put his feet in his lap. 

Armie doesn't hesitate. He peels Timmy socks off--even though they are a bit sweaty, even if they stink a little--and presses his thumb into the arch of his left foot. 

"Fuck," Timmy hisses. 

Armie looks up. Freezes. "You want me to stop?" 

Timmy shakes his head. "No, I'd like you to do that for like an hour, actually."

Armie doesn't do it for an hour, but he works most of the kinks out while Timmy sinks down into the couch. Tells Armie about the annoying customer who wouldn't leave him alone tonight, but he tipped well so it worked out okay. Eventually, props himself up and asks, "Would you want to get lunch tomorrow?" 

Armie nods. "I'm sure my ex-husband can watch the store."


	9. Chapter 9

Armie can't sleep. It has nothing to do with sleeping on the floor-- 

("I won't fit on the bed or the couch, so you might as well take the bed. The floor is fine. Do you have an extra pillow for my back?" Armie asked. 

Timmy snorted and pulled a pillow from under the couch. Threw it at Armie. "Such an old man," he teased.)

\--and only partially to do with the plunk, plunk, plunk of the leaky bathroom faucet. Mainly, it has to do with the comforter, which smells entirely of Timmy. A mix of play doh, cigarettes, soap, mint. Armie pulls the comforter to his nose. Inhales, and turns on his side. The carpet is rough on his skin and he shifts. Covers his mouth with the comforter. Wants to taste but--

The bedroom door creaks open. "No room," Olivia whispers and doesn't hesitate kneeling beside Armie, tugging at the comforter until he lifts the corner to make room for her. Shares the pillow. "Harper snores."

Armie laughs and tucks the blanket around Olivia. Lets her burrow against his chest. Her curls tickle his cheek and he closes his eyes. 

_____

Olivia kicks Armie in the face. 

_Just like sleeping with Nick,_ Armie thinks as his eyes blink open and focus on a groggy Timmy lifting Olivia up, pulling her against his bare chest, her head tucking into his neck. "Sorry," Timmy whispers. "Just moving her. Go back to bed."

Liz used to say that. Usually, it was when she was getting ready in the mornings. She owned a bakery (that is now a deli) and was up hours before Armie needed to even think of pressing snooze. Most days, she was silent, but a few times a week she would drop a shoe, stub a toe, lose her keys and whisper curses all over the bedroom. Eventually, she'd notice Armie blinking from his comforter cocoon. Run her finger over his cheek, kiss his forehead, his nose, his hair. "Go back to sleep." Sometimes, she'd add "Darling," and Armie would grin. Bury his face in his pillow. 

Rarely, he'd fall back asleep. Usually, he rolled to her side of the bed. Wrapped himself in the leftover warmth of her body. 

Armie watches Timmy walk back to the bedroom. Whispers, "Well, I'm awake now." He sits up and cracks his neck, his back. Rolls his shoulders backwards, forwards. Regrets keeping his belt on while he slept. He folds the comforter and pushes everything under the couch. 

Goes on a search for coffee. 

_____

Armie: _two things: i can open the store and you're watching the kids during lunch. good morning._  
Nick: _two things: it is six fucking am shut up and why is kids plural. did you have a good night?_

Armie finds the coffee in the fridge. Timmy's kitchen is small, so he seems to have played Tetris making room for dishes, pans, food, cleaning supplies, extra towels, books--

"Why do you have books under your sink?" Armie asks when Timmy walks out of the bedroom. He's in boxers, pulling a green, oversized sweater over his head. The collar is stretched and hangs loose around his neck. Armie presses the coffee pot on and searches for mugs.

Timmy shrugs and points across the dining room to a bookshelf that is now covered in board games, puzzles, coloring books, crayons. "That happened." He scuffs his socked feet across the kitchen. Pulls the drawer under the coffee machine to reveal a set of mismatched coffee mugs. "They were always knocking them down when they'd get bowls. Do you want to be Number One Aunt or The Grand Canyon?" 

"Definitely Number One Aunt," Armie says, taking the mug from Timmy's hand before pulling his phone out. "Sorry, I need to respond to Nick. Store stuff." 

Armie: the twins will be there. we had a nice night. brave is much better than i initially thought.  
Nick: aaah it herculesed you didnt it and wait are you still there did you fuck him armie i swear to god  
Armie: hey YOU didn't like hercules and yes i am still here and no i did not fuck him i slept on the floor and everything hurts  
Nick: not true and oooh and good job on not being an idiot and youre old. see you later.  
Armie: k.  
Nick: fuck you

"Sorry about kicking you in the face," Timmy says as he scans his own phone. "Or, Olivia--whatever. Figured she should be in bed."

Armie watches the coffee drip down into the carafe. "I didn't mind." He's tempted to take the first cup before the coffee has finished, but it seems rude. "Not the kick. I mean, it didn't matter, but I didn't mind her. Sharing the floor." 

_Does that even make sense? Less is more. I need coffee._

"It was nice. Harper has never been a cuddler at night."

Timmy shrugs and grabs his own mug. Pours a cup of coffee for himself and walks to the dining table. Sits down cross-legged on one of the chairs. He holds his cup with both hands, brings it to his lips and blows. "Well, Olivia needs to sleep in her bed." Timmy sips his coffee. "She slept with me until she was like four and it's been hard getting her to sleep on her own."

The dripping coffee seems to slow down. Armie pours half a cup, impatient to have something to do with his hands. He moves to the dining room and sits across from Timmy. "Sorry, I didn't--"

Timmy puts his mug down and wipes at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. "You didn't know." Yawns. "Thanks again for last night." 

Armie holds his coffee. Bounces his knee and stares at Timmy, whose eyes are transfixed on his coffee. The sleeves of his sweater graze his knuckles. "I told you I don't mind helping with the twins," Armie whispers. "I could watch them more if you--"

"No," Timmy shakes his head and stretches out. Sets his coffee down. Pushes his sleeves up and looks at Armie. Leans forward. "Armie, I appreciate you helping me last night, but you are not part of," he gestures between himself and the bedroom, "This. You are not part of our family and last night I felt like--"

"I never said I was part of your family." Armie sets down his coffee. Presses his palms against his thighs. Lowers his voice. Leans forward to mirror Timmy. "Nick watches Harper all the time; he is not part of my family. He just helps me. Like when he's an idiot who leaves his car lights on and needs a jump like eight times a winter, I help him."

Timmy shakes his head, presses his chest against the edge of the table. "Not the same. You've known Nick since you were kids and you've known me for less than two months. You are not part of our family and I don't want my kids thinking you are. I am not letting that happen again."

Armie sits back and raises his eyebrows. Clucks his tongue against the bottom of his mouth. Crosses his arms and watches as Timmy tries to take his last sentence back. His mouth opens and closes and he scratches his palm with his thumb. Bites the inside of his cheek. 

Finally, "I meant, I'm not going to let that--"

Armie smirks. "Happen again," he finishes for Timmy. "I heard you. Anything you'd like to share?"

_Wipe the fucking look off your face, Armie. You didn't win anything._

Timmy blinks. Grabs his coffee and looks away. Stands up and brings his coffee with him to the kitchen. Starts opening drawers and pulling out pans. Pancake mix, a wooden spoon, and a measuring cup. "Harper likes pancakes, right?" 

"So, that's it?" Armie rolls his eyes and follows him to the kitchen. Leaves his coffee on the counter while Timmy reaches above the stove. Grabs the oil and tries to set it down with the other ingredients, but Armie is there, grabbing the bottle from his hand. "You're just going to say something like that and then walk away?"

"Armie, give me the--" Timmy reaches for the oil, which Armie pulls behind his back. Grabs Timmy's wrist. "Stop," Timmy says, trying to pull his wrist away. 

Armie shakes his head. Steps forward so Timmy has to lean back against the counter. He looks down at Timmy and--

_Stop. Let him make pancakes and talk to you when he wants to and--_

\--takes another step so they are almost hip to hip. Drops Timmy's wrist so if he really wants to walk away, he can. 

(Timmy's always been able to walk away, and yet here they are.)

"No, I'm done with this whole, 'Oh, my past sucked,' bullshit. I get it. It's been hard. But, you're not the only one, okay? Do you know why it's different with Nick? Because I've accepted that I need help. And even if you don't want me and Harper to be a part of your family--which, by the way, is not something even close to happening in the near future, so calm the fuck down--I can still want to help you, okay?"

Timmy flexes his jaw and looks up at Armie. "I don't need help."

Armie snorts. Grins and licks his lips.

_Don't be an ass. You can do this while not being an ass._

"Really? Because last night, I walked in here and you had three days' worth of dishes in the sink."

"I told you, I was applying to schools and--"

Armie nods. "And you'll get accepted and it will be a lot of extra work." Timmy shifts; his foot grazes Armie's and Armie can't help but lean down a bit. Whisper, "The kids don't have to know anything until we want them to. If we want them to. I just know that I want you in my life. As a friend, preferably more. But whatever you're ready to give me, I want, okay? But, if you don't want any of this--my help, my friendship, me--now would be a good time to let me know."

_You know, idiot, if you had maybe said this the last morning after, you wouldn't be in this stupid situation._

Timmy shifts again. Nods, and his curls tickle Armie's chin. His hand moves to Armie's waist. Soft, barely there. "Okay."

"Do you still want to get lunch today?"

Timmy nods again. "I do."

"Me too," Armie says and shifts his weight against Timmy's hand. Waits a moment for him to pull back and when he doesn't, lifts his free hand to Timmy's cheek. Presses him back against the counter. "This okay?"

Timmy nods, yet again. Lifts his head--

(Armie took one poetry class in college, and it was terrible. However, he could and would happily write a terrible sonnet about the way Timmy's curls feel against his skin. Something that he wouldn't show anyone, except Nick and only after at least a case of beer. But, just know that he _could_ write the sonnet if he wanted. Possibly already has.)

\--and his curls tickle Armie's neck. His cheek. "I'm paying though," Timmy whispers before letting Armie kiss him. 

There's a rustle from the bedroom and Armie pulls back. Leans in again and kisses Timmy's forehead, then hands him the oil. "Do you have chocolate chips? Harper and I are big fans of chocolate chip pancakes," Armie says before searching for where Timmy might keep the plates. "Oh, and at lunch? We're doing more of this talking shit. It should become a hobby of ours."

Armie can sense Timmy rolling his eyes. "So demanding," Timmy murmurs, but he bites back a smile as he brushes by Armie and opens the cupboard next to him. Pulls out a bag of chocolate chips.


	10. Chapter 10

Nick: _my names armie and i said id open the store and i fucking didnt_  
Nick: _seriously one of your pta moms was waiting at the door wtf_

Armie sighs and rubs Harper's back while she flips a page. Watches as she pokes at a picture of herself as a newborn. "I was little." He laughs and nods. His eyes are drawn to the smile on Liz's face. The curve of bare shoulders, the wisps of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. One of his friends told him he'd be jealous of Liz's smile when she first held the baby. "Up until then, the happiest you've seen your wife is on your wedding day. Well, get ready to be jealous of the baby."

His friend was wrong, because he's pretty sure his face mirrored hers and he'd felt like every single cell in his being had fallen into place. All the atoms stopped bumping around.

Armie: _hops wanted to look at pictures of liz_  
Nick: _take ur time_

Armie slips his phone into his pocket. "Okay, two more pages and then we have to go help Nick with the store, okay?"

Harper doesn't turn the page. She closes the album, flips it over, then opens to the last two pages. They're her favorite pages, Armie thinks, because she's between three and four. She's between three and four, so Harper looks similar to how she does now. Armie is in these pictures, too. Most of the previous pages are just Liz or just Harper or Harper and Liz. Sometimes, Armie makes an appearance, but he was always the photographer. Especially once they found out about the cancer. More so when the phrase, "Six months, maybe less," came into play. 

It ended up being more like eight months, but Armie wishes he'd taken more pictures.   
_____

Timmy is eyeing Nick's fingers. He's wearing black jeans and a Fugazi sweatshirt; Armie is pretty glad they've never listening to music together. He's sure it would give him a headache. "So," Timmy's tongue toys with the corner of his mouth. He glances at Armie, then back at Nick's fingers. Looks around the hardware store like he's searching for something. Focuses on the kids as they play king of the mountain on bags of mulch. "You're sure you can handle this?"

Nick nods. "Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. I coach T-ball in the summer. I can handle three kids in a hardware store."

Timmy glances at Armie, who shrugs.   
_____

"He's missing fingers."

Armie walks Timmy around to the passenger side of his truck. Opens the door. "No, he's missing the tips of some fingers, and he's not going to be teaching the kids how to use a table saw, so we're okay."

(Liz was always much more carefree with Harper. The first time they took her to a playground, Armie followed her from the slide to the swings to the sandbox, back to the slide until Liz said, "You're not her shadow, you know." Rolled her eyes from the bench she was sitting on. 

Armie laughed and finally sat next to Liz. He couldn't help but keep a close eye on Harper, craning his neck around climbers and teeter totters the entire time.) 

Armie makes sure Timmy gets all his limbs in before slamming the door and walking to the driver's side. Slides in and grins when he starts the engine and Timmy rests his hand on Armie's thigh. "So, Sharon told me that the diner is the place to go."

"You're friends with Sharon now?"

Timmy just rolls his eyes. Nods.  
_____

Timmy eats like a teenager. He has a mouth full of tuna melt and a hand full of fries when he says, "I'm sorry I was a dick this morning." He doesn't even swallow, just pushes the sandwich to his cheek and shoves some fries in his mouth. Chews, chews, pauses. Chews, then swallows, hard, and it hurts Armie's throat. Armie bites an onion ring in half. Chews, swallows. Watches in horror as Timmy takes another bite of his sandwich. "I just," he rolls his eyes. Shrugs a shoulder. 

"You just what?" Armie reaches over and takes a fry from Timmy's plate. Dips it in ketchup. 

Timmy swallows. Sits back in the booth and fiddles with one of the drawstrings on his hoodie. Blushes and grabs his water. "I liked coming home to you."

_I can think of many other reasons to be a dick._

Armie laughs and finishes the onion ring. 

("Harper was hungry, so I made her mac'n'cheese," he'd explained, only ordering onion rings.)

"That explains so much," Armie rolls his eyes and pops the last onion ring in his mouth. Drops his napkin onto his plate. Wrinkles his nose as Timmy finishes at least two and a half bites of a sandwich in one gulp. "You eat like a cow, by the way."

"Fuck you," Timmy laughs. He tosses his napkin on his empty plate and looks out the window. Blinks before opening his eyes wide. Looks skyward. Breathes out evenly. Armie knows this move. He did it all the time after Liz died to keep from crying in public on a daily basis. "I liked coming home to you and I didn't want to get ahead of myself, because I did that before and it was really dumb. And I know you're not like that, but, I just don't want to fuck up again. And then I saw you with Olivia and it was just." He looks back at Armie and his eyes are damp. 

"Hey," Armie says. Slides his sunglasses across the table. "Should we like. Go?"

Timmy nods and puts the sunglasses on. Reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a few bills.   
____

Armie: _please distract the kids for five minutes we're coming in the back i promise we wont be long okay_  
Nick: _..._  
Armie: _if you don't i will go into tolkien like details about our future sex life_  
Nick: _WAS LUNCH THAT GOOD. also fine._

Armie rolls his eyes and starts the engine. "Nick is the worst."

Timmy smirks. Rests his hand on Armie's thigh. "He seems nice. Even if he sleeps in your bed more than I do."  
_____

Armie likes the way Timmy looks in his kitchen. The way he leans against the counter, checks his phone. Scratches the back of his calf with a socked toe. Casually says, "Shoot, I have to work tonight I guess."

"Do you want coffee? I have beer, but it's also like. Not even two in the afternoon, so," Armie closes the fridge. "And we have juice boxes."

"Juice is very tempting, but I'm good." He pockets his phone. "Sorry for like," he rolls his eyes. "Back at the diner." Armie's sunglasses are perched on top of Timmy's head. "And I know you said we need to talk more, but I'm worried you will--"

"I haven't been with anyone since Liz," Armie blurts out. Turns on the faucet and pours himself a glass of water. "And I know it's probably weird for you when I talk about Liz, but I need you to know that."

_Well, that was a lot. This is up there with "my type is MY WIFE IS DEAD."_

Armie grimaces. 

Timmy steps forward and takes the glass from Armie. Sips and hands it back. "Do you have pictures of her?"  
____

They sit side by side on the couch. Timmy has the photo album in his lap, one hand slowly turning pages. His other hand is rubbing the nape of Armie's neck. "She was really beautiful."

Armie nods. Blinks and opens his eyes wide. Stares at the ceiling. "She was really good, too. We met volunteering for Habitat for Humanity." He laughs. Rests his head on Timmy's shoulder. "I was doing it for community service, but she was doing it because she was just a good person."

"Community service?"

Armie clears his throat. "Did I say community service? I meant servicing my community."

Timmy grins and turns the page. "Okay, well, that's something I need to hear about later."

"It was nothing," Armie says. "Oh, here is the day we found out she was pregnant with Harper." He points at a picture of Liz grinning, holding up a pregnancy test. "She thought it was going to be a boy, but I was hoping for a girl."

"Why did you want a girl?"  
_____

Nick: _hey so it's been three hours and i have to pee_  
_____

"Wait," Timmy says before they reach the bottom of the stairs. He's one step behind Armie, so he's able to look him in the eyes. "I had a lot of fun today."

Armie grins. Leans in and kisses Timmy. It's chaste, but lingering and Timmy leans into him. Smiles against Armie's lips when his arms wrap around his waist. "It wasn't like," Armie rolls his eyes. "Too much?"

Timmy shakes his head. Kisses Armie's cheek, his neck. "No, in fact," he licks his lips. "I was wondering if I could bring the twins over tonight. While I'm at work."

Armie nods. Tightens his grip on Timmy's waist and carries him the last few steps. Sets him down. "I'd actually really like that."

They link hands and walk into the hardware store. "It is bath night," Timmy notes. 

"I have a bath tub."

They find Nick sitting next to the counter. Legos are everywhere and Elliot is sleeping on his thigh. Olivia is chasing Harper. Giggling. "You two owe me."  
_____

It's midnight when Nick texts. 

(The night went fine. Somehow, all the kids fit in one bathtub and no one got soap in their eyes. Timmy got off early so the twins were able to go home. Timmy kissed him good night and didn't awkwardly shove money at Armie, so it was a lot of winning.)

Nick: _you good?_

Armie is flipping through the photo album. Tracing his finger over Liz's jaw. 

Armie: _not really._  
Nick: _i can be there in ten._


	11. Chapter 11

It's three in the morning and officially October 15th. 

(Three years since the blood work came back. The start of scheduling more tests and going over options. Choices that had no "Pros and Cons" list. Just a "Cons and Less of a Con" list. Since, the doctor sat down and tried to put on the face he learned during his undergraduate Medical Sociology course. He failed miserably. Three years since the blood work came back and Armie sat in the waiting area, eyes wide towards the ceiling. Breaths staggered while his phone vibrated in his back pocket. 

Nick had been watching Harper. Wanted Armie to know _SHE MADE A POOP IN THE TOILET._ )

"I'm sorry," Armie whispers. 

_I should really let Nick get to sleep. I should get to sleep. I have to be up to make breakfast, open the store. Nick needs to--_

"No you're not," Nick says. Bumps his legs up and down so Armie's head shakes back and forth. "You're sad. It's fine." He props himself up on his elbows and yawns. Looks down at Armie. "And if you need to talk, I can make coffee and we can talk as long as you need. But," and he grins. Holds up a finger and winks at Armie. 

"And that's a big butt," Armie sniffles. Chuckles and blinks at the ceiling, glad to have elementary jokes to share with someone when they're in their thirties. 

"The biggest," Nick continues, "Then I need to make coffee."

They finish two pots of coffee before Harper wakes up.  
_____

Timmy is waiting at Armie's truck on Monday morning, leaning against the driver's door. His bike and Burley parallel to the truck bed. When he sees Armie, he straightens, gives a wave from just below his ribs. Something Armie recognizes can be mistaken for the crack of a wrist. A nervous twitch. 

"Hey," Timmy smiles. 

Armie looks around and grins. Notices that they're catching the eyes of a few of the PTA moms. 

_Let them look,_ he thinks. Widens his strides until he's in front of Timmy. "Hey yourself," he whispers before leaning down and kissing Timmy's forehead. "Sorry for not really responding yesterday."

(Timmy: _isn't it park sunday? where are you? sharon and co. think there's--and i quote--trouble in paradise_  
Timmy: _everything good?_

Nick read the texts to Armie while he made Harper a grilled cheese sandwich. 

"I want to go to the park!" Harper yelled from the dining table where she was drawing a picture of a tree. Some red, black, and tan smudges near the tree almost resembled a lumberjack. 

"I'll take you after lunch," Nick assured her. 

Armie was on the couch, aimlessly thumbing through a magazine. "Yeah, text him everything is fine."

When he looked later, Nick had said: 

Armie: _we good just a rough day_

Harper and Nick were at the park, so Armie tossed the phone back on the counter. Whispered, "I wouldn't fucking say 'we good,' you idiot." Then, he ate ice cream out of the carton.)

Timmy wraps his arms around Armie's waist and pulls him in for a hug. "No problem. 'We good,'" he mocks. "But really," he tightens his grip, "Nick told me what was going on. You know I could have stayed on Saturday night, right? Like, if you needed someone." 

_Needed someone. Not someone to talk to, someone to be with, someone to listen. If you needed someone._

Armie's face is hot and he nods. "Yeah, I guess I do know. Or, now I know. I just didn't want to like, make it into this--"

"You wouldn't have. Now, let's get coffee."  
_____

Timmy beats him to the coffee shop. Again. 

"How the hell do you get here so fast?" Armie asks as he slides into the booth. He's glad a booth is available so he doesn't have to slouch. Doesn't have to try to fit into a tiny space and can instead cross his knees at the ankle. Reach across the table and hold Timmy's hands.

"I ordered," Timmy nods to the counter. "They had to clean the machine, so they said they'd bring it out. And I get here so fast because I don't have to find a space to park my giant fucking truck." 

Armie grins. 

"So, I had this idea," Timmy says. "Since you're watching the twins when I work--"

 _This is happening, isn't it?_ Armie lets the thought flash across his mind. Bites the inside of his lower lip to stop from smiling too big. _This is actually happening._

"--and you let Harper stay up way too late, the twins now nap after school. Which means I can nap for a bit before work and don't need to nap right," he cocks his head to the side and grins, "now."

Armie laughs. "She likes to watch--"

He almost says _Bob's Burgers_ but then realizes that makes him an even worse parent. 

"Continue." Armie licks his lips. 

Timmy pulls his hands free as the barista walks up with two cups. "Thank you," Timmy says without taking his eyes of Armie. "I figured we could have coffee a few days a week. If Nick is okay at the store."

Armie shrugs. "I like that." Picks up his mug and blows on the medium roast. 

"And I know you let her watch _Bob's Burgers_ ," Timmy adds. "She told me at the park."

 _God damnit._  
_____

It only takes a few weeks, but Armie learns that Timmy's favorite color is green. He's rusty at French, but can still read it for the most part. He doesn't like small spaces and he dated an older woman who wanted too much, too soon, and he panicked. That he was terrified that first day at the PTA meeting, that he was crushed when he thought Armie was married and crushed even further when he thought Armie was married to Nick. 

("I mean," Timmy blushed, "Nick is a nice guy, but you could do better."

Armie raised his eyebrows. "Better? Like you?"

Timmy nodded. "Like me." Armie loves cocky Timmy.)

Armie learns that Timmy ran cross country in high school and is hoping to become an accountant if everything works out. His first concert was The Casualties and he got kicked in the face when he was in the mosh pit. He loves movies, but he basically only watches Disney because of the twins. His first sexual experience was traumatic and embarrassing "to say the fucking least," and resulted in twins. He's a dog person, but he tolerates cats. Sharon is actually nice, if you just avoid certain topics. And he learned to bake because he spends a lot of time on Pinterest when he can't sleep. 

Armie can't remember everything he tells Timmy. It's a lot about Harper, a little about himself. At first, mostly about Liz. And Timmy listens; he really listens. 

"She seems like she was perfect for you," Timmy comments before excusing himself to get another drink. Asks Armie if he needs anything and even though Armie says no, he comes back with a brownie.

He tells Timmy how he got caught with weed and that's how he met Liz. Shows him the mug shot. "Why the hell do you look so smug, you idiot?" Timmy laughs.

Their coffee dates usually end with Armie walking Timmy to his bike. Watching him unlock it and trying to keep the conversation going. Never wanting it to end. Sometimes, they go back to Armie's (because it's just barely closer) and make out on the couch. Rarely, they make their way to the bed and grind against one another. Timmy whimpering against Armie's jaw while Armie holds the backs of his thighs. Whispers in his ear, "Like that? You want to come?"

And Timmy always nods. Sinks further against Armie before he tenses. Melts against him.  
______

"Wait, so you two haven't fucked yet?" Nick asks. 

Armie looks up from the screen window he is trying to repair. "What the hell happened to Hemingway-esque?"

Nick shrugs. "I mean, at this point it's almost a polygamous relationship." Armie throws a screwdriver at him, which Nick barely ducks. "I said _almost, _Jesus fucking Christ." Grins. "I mean, I can't say I haven't thought about it," he says before running to the back of the store while Armie looks for more things to throw.  
_______

__The Sunday before Thanksgiving, they're at the park. Timmy is wearing a jean jacket over a Blink-182 hoodie. "Hey!" Armie points when he first sees him. "I know that band."_ _

__Timmy rolls his eyes. "But have you listened to _Buddha_? _Cheshire Cat_?"_ _

__Armie kisses his cheek. "Nope, but I have heard of them and they run around naked, so I get points."_ _

__Timmy shakes his head, but he laughs. Slides his hand down to link with Armie's. The PTA moms no longer look at them; they say hello and continue pushing their kids on swings. Set up playdates._ _

__They sit on the bench and Timmy tells Armie about his shift the night before. How it got busy and, "Do you remember when I told you I used to work at a Subway? It was like that, but less lettuce."_ _

__Armie remembers everything Timmy tells him. Routinely forgets the details he personally lets slip, but doesn't care that they do. "Oh shit," Timmy whispers when Harper takes a hard fall off the jungle gym. He stands and Armie should be looking at his daughter, but instead he's looking up at Timmy, who looks ready to walk over. Ready to brush her off and check her bones, her skin, her face. Wipe the sand off. But then Harper is laughing and jumping up. Timmy settles and sits down. "That looked rough," Timmy laughs. "One time, Elliot--"_ _

__And he breaks off into another story. When Timmy leans back against the bench, Armie puts an arm across his shoulders.  
______ _

__On Monday, Timmy has his helmet on and is waiting outside the school. "Coffee, yeah?"_ _

__Armie shakes his head and Timmy frowns. "What if I made you brunch?" He licks his lips. "At my place?"_ _

__Timmy undoes his helmet. Stands up straight before swinging his leg off of his bike. Nodding. "Can this fit in your truck?"_ _

_Oh, God. This is really happening._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you like this fic, you really need to thank Ghostcat because I said, "Nah, I'm done with this," about 4000 times and the response was, "LIKE HELL YOU ARE," more or less.   
> 2\. There will likely be oneshots posted related to this every now and then because they have a TEN YEAR PLAN IN MY HEAD.   
> 3\. I appreciate everyone's comments so much! I'm terrible at responding, but I've been trying.

Armie: _timmy is coming over for brunch and you are not saying a word okay_  
Nick: _armie i would never_  
Nick: _i can't believe you would even think i might try to embarrass you or your booooooyfriend_

Timmy's seat belt clicks and Armie's head shoots up. He sets his phone in the cup holder and starts the engine. They'd never discussed what they were. It was pretty clear they were something, but also clear Timmy didn't want them to be everything. 

_Didn't want or wasn't ready? Those are different things. Those are very different things._

Armie starts the engine. "Ready?" Timmy's hand finds Armie's thigh. Squeezes. He nods.  
_____

Armie tries to remember everything that might put them in a new category. 

They haven't technically confirmed they are dating, but Armie knows they are exclusive.   
Neither have used the word "boyfriend."  
They have fallen into a routine though, so that's something.

_Is it something? Or am I pushing this too fast? Should we actually just go to brunch?_

Armie watches the twins almost every night Timmy works. Most nights, Armie helps carry them down to Timmy's bike. Tucks them into the Burley. Two weeks ago, started kneeling on the ground, leaning in and giving them a kiss goodnight. A week ago, Timmy cupped a hand around Armie's neck, pulled him down for his own goodnight kiss--

("The kids are awake," Armie whispered, hoisting Harper up further on his hip. She was barely awake, head buried against Armie's shoulder. 

_The kids are awake, the kids will see, the kids will know._

Timmy rolled his eyes, said, "I'm aware," against Armie's lips before kissing him. Pulled back and ran a hand up Harper's back. Tickled the nape of her neck and grinned when she giggled in a sleepy haze. "Night, Hops." Kissed her temple.)

\--and then that became the routine. 

Sometimes, they text throughout the day. If Timmy doesn't respond for a few hours, Armie nevver worries like he used to with Liz. Liz always responded promptly; if she didn't it was because Armie had said or done something stupid. Timmy tells Armie when he's doing or saying something stupid, and he's stopped texting "k." If he doesn't respond, it doesn't alarm Armie. Timmy's probably napping.

They've started going back to Armie's apartment after their coffee dates more frequently, though it's still not that common. They follow the routine of making out on the couch, moving to the bedroom. Letting Timmy grind against Armie--

(And it was adorable [which isn't a word Armie thought he'd use to describe dry humping] the first time. He'd been on Armie's lap and Armie had a hand under Timmy's shirt. Thumb pushing into Timmy's spine while his mouth moved along Timmy's jaw. He thought Timmy was just shifting at first, trying to get more comfortable. But then the movements were more deliberate, even though they were minuscule. Armie let him do this for a while, before grabbing Timmy's hips. "Here, like," he moved Timmy so his cock was pressed between their bodies. So Armie's cock was pressing against Timmy's ass. "Like this," Armie showed him, moving his hips so they both could get off. 

He bought a few pair of extra basketball shorts and boxers for Timmy to wear afterwards. Didn't make a big deal about it, just showed him where they were in the dresser one day.)

\--and Armie was surprised how much he liked just doing that. At first, it felt weird because Timmy was so young. Not that young, but this made him seem so much younger. Too inexperienced and _what the hell am I doing here? What the hell is this?_ He mentioned it to Nick--because Hemingway-esque was no longer a thing--who said, "The kid never got to dry hump in the back of a car after a football game because he had two kids to take care of, Armie. Let him have this."

And then there was something about _that_ and it made Armie's bones ache. Whatever they are is a first for Timmy. Something equal, something wanted (not needed), something to look forward to.

So, yeah, they go back to Armie's apartment sometimes.  
_____

Liz's car still worked, Armie discovered. Armie took it in for an oil change, a tune up. Cleaned out the inside, pocketed loose change and tossed old chapstick, receipts, and pens in the garbage. Vacuums. The radio was still set to the classical station Liz liked. "It's calming, okay? Better than that crap you listen to."

"You should get boosters," Nick said when Armie gets back. 

"What?"

"For the twins. In case you all need to go somewhere together." Nick was sorting dowels onto a rack. "You'd look ridiculous riding in Timmy's Burley with the kids," he grinned. "And I'm not sure if his little stick legs could handle that, anyways."

"Hey, he has remarkably strong legs, okay?" Armie laughed, but that's not a bad idea. He made a note to get two extra boosters the next time he's at the store.   
_____  
At the PTA meeting discussing the Holiday Program--

("Why are we calling it a Holiday Program if we're only singing Christmas songs?" Timmy asked. "Like, either call it a Christmas Program or only do shit like "Sleigh Ride," and "Winter Wonderland," that's all I'm saying. Also, how about we just veto that -date rape song right now?" 

Armie snorted and watched as Timmy's knee bounced. Could tell there was something else Timmy wanted to get out of his system. "Is that all?"

Timmy shrugged. Nodded. Just as Armie was about to go on, spit out, "Okay, and this Orange and Black Festival instead of a Halloween Party? That was bullshit."

PTA Timmy was still a bit problematic.)

\--they're trying to decide who should coordinate the final dance sequence, and Sharon says, "Well, Timmy and Armie, clearly."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean, Sharon?" Timmy asked, and his tone is not as harsh as it would have been two months ago. 

Armie is about to cut in, because he knows exactly what Timmy is thinking it means, but Sharon reaches over and puts her hand on Timmy's forearm. "It's the finale! And you and Armie work so well together."

"Alright, yeah. We can do that," Timmy nods. Blushes and looks at the table. "Sharon, maybe you should be in charge of the potluck afterwards."  
___

Armie tries not to look at Nick, who is thumbing through _Sports Illustrated._ Pausing to read a caption. Licks his finger, turns the page. 

_If you don't engage him, he won't say anything._ Armie links hands with Timmy as they walk through the store. He tries not to pull him, but maybe his strides are a little longer than normal. _Who the hell am I kidding; he's going to say something and then Timmy will get upset and--_

"Hey, Nick," Timmy gives Nick a soft wave. "What's up?"

"Oh, just killing time while you guys have brunch." Turns another page and looks up. Grins at Armie. "What's for brunch, anyways? Timmy's ass?"

_I'm going to kill him._ Timmy stops in front of the counter and lets go of Armie's hand. _No, Armie, you have a child, you have Timmy's children to watch, you have Timmy. You can't go to jail. You can key his car, though._

"Yeah; do you want me to save you a plate?" Timmy asks before grabbing Nick's magazine and flinging it towards the front door. Grabs Armie's hand and starts pulling him toward the apartment stairs. 

"I was reading that!" Nick yells after them. Adds, "For the record, feisty Timmy is my favorite!" 

Timmy laughs and squeezes Armie's fingers.  
_____

Armie turns the key, but doesn't push the door open. "We don't," he says over his shoulder. "Have to like, do anything. We can literally have brunch. I have eggs."

"I have eggs," Timmy mocks, then reaches out and turns the knob for Armie. "I know we don't have to, but I want to."  
_____

Armie had planned on waiting for Timmy to make the first move. To insinuate they could go further. He thought they were close a few times, like last week when Timmy fell onto his back. Wrapped his legs around Armie and urged him to climb on top. To roll his hips against Timmy's ass, slow, firm. Pushing hair out of Timmy's face and kissing his cheeks, his temple, his lips. His thrusts the antithesis of Timmy's former frantic gyrations, a promise that their first time would be slow. 

He thought it was going to happen two days ago, when they didn't even make it to the bedroom. Didn't make it to the couch and Timmy pressed Armie back against the door. Looked down and fumbled with Armie's belt, his pants. Pushed them down enough to pull his cock out and jerk him off in the entryway. It was too rough, and Armie had to cover Timmy's fist with his own. Show him what he liked, while Timmy apologized, "Sorry, I--"

"No, no," Armie silenced him. "This is good, so fucking good." Let go of Timmy's hand and thread his fingers through curls. Leaned against the door and groaned when Timmy's hand disappeared. When his own hand followed Timmy's down, as he sank to his knees. Took Armie in his mouth and, "Holy shit, Timmy, fuck."

But that was about as far as they got.  
_____

Timmy doesn't stop at the couch. He kicks his Vans off and walks to the bedroom. Grumbles, "You and your boots," as Armie bends down to unlace and tug his boots off. "So inconvenient."

"They're not inconvenient when," Armie starts to mention Nick dropping two by fours, but cuts himself off because he can hear the mattress creaking under Timmy's weight. 

_Shit, shit, shit. This is happening._

Armie yanks his left boot off and drops it. Doesn't care that it isn't lined up by the door like all the other shoes. He makes it halfway across the living room when he remembers the door; turns back to lock it. 

"Armie?" Timmy calls out and Armie is not prepared for any of this. He stands in the bedroom doorway and smiles at Timmy, whose shirtless on the bed, hand aimlessly trailing from his belly, up his sternum. Fingers splaying against his neck before trailing back down. Smiling at Armie. "Hi."

"Hey," Armie says. Pulls off his own shirt and lets it fall to the ground. Stops at the edge of the bed and says, "You'll tell me if you want to stop, right?"

Timmy groans and moves to his knees. Shuffles to the edge of the bed and looks up at Armie. Licks his lips and puts a hand on Armie's waist. "I don't want you to stop, okay?" And then he's cupping Armie through his pants, arching up for a kiss.   
_____

Armie has never seen Timmy completely naked. That first date, his shirt was just pushed up and Armie could imagine, but it's not the same. He's brought back to the bar. Timmy leaning over to reveal white, white, white skin. He's thin, small. But there's so much skin and Armie wants to touch all of it. He settles for nestling between Timmy's legs. Kissing his inner thigh before asking, "That night at the bar; were you actually flirting with me? Or was it a joke?"

Timmy looks up from the pillow, brows furrowed like he's trying to remember. Then his face brightens. "Oh, right. the PTA orgy." He shrugs and ruffles Armie's hair. Fingers a few edges that stick up. "Yeah, I was. Definitely."

Armie grins. "Good," and takes Timmy in his mouth. Sucks hard enough to make Timmy mewl, then backs off. Gets his cock wet enough that his lips slide easily over the length, his hand at the best is able to easily slide over the few inches he can't swallow. He goes slow, knowing they have all morning. Most of the afternoon. Obviously knows it won't last that long, but _what if_? Armie could live in this bed with Timmy. 

Timmy has other plans. "Armie, can you," he breathes and Armie glances up. Sees the flush (or is it blush? A mixture?), of Timmy's cheeks. Groans when Timmy bends his leg, holds a hand behind his knee to open himself up to Armie. "Please."

_I'm so fucking ready for this._

Armie pulls off Timmy's cock, but keeps stroking him. Pushes his own palm against the back of Timmy's thigh and shifts down further. Trails the tip of his tongue along the skin just before Timmy's hole. Pauses until he can hear a stutter in Timmy's breathing, then moves forward and laps at the muscle. 

"Oh fuck me," Timmy breathes out, and then his hand isn't toying with Armie's hair anymore. His fingers fist and Armie stills, would let Timmy try to fuck himself on his tongue if he wants. But Timmy freezes; the muscles in his leg shake. "Armie, please," Timmy pleads, and Armie can't deny him anything. He spits against Timmy's ass and smooths the saliva with his tongue. Gives a few more gentle swipes before pressing back, hard, while he clumsily jerks Timmy off. 

Timmy is tight and Armie momentarily wants to pull back. Suggest Timmy fucks him first. That they work up to this, that maybe they can try later, that--

"Fuck, I want you in me," Timmy says and now he is trying to press against Armie's tongue. "Want you to fuck me, Armie." 

Armie pulls back, barely, and scrapes his teeth along the soft skin of Timmy's ass. Sucks his fingers into his mouth and spits against Timmy's hole again. "This is going to feel a bit weird at first," Armie whispers, pressing his finger against Timmy. Adding the slightest of pressure and smiling when Timmy shifts. Pulls his leg up a bit more. Spreads himself wider.

"I know," Timmy hisses. "I've," he licks his lips and Armie looks up at him, even though it's hard to look away from where he's slowly pressing his fingertip in. "I've done it myself," Timmy closes his eyes and looks away. 

"Fuck, Timmy," Armie groans and presses in to the first knuckle. Ducks in to lick around his finger. "You'll have to show me that sometime."

Timmy clenches around him. Nods. "Pretty sure you promised to do that for me already, though."

Armie laughs and presses a bit deeper. "Don't be an ass."

He pulls himself away, grinning when Timmy almost refuses to let go of his hair. "I gotta get," he pushes Timmy's hand away and reaches for the bedside drawer. Blindly finds the lube, a condom. Can't help but notice that Timmy stares at them on the bed. How he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You good?" Timmy nods. "Okay, could you like," Armie sits back on his haunches and pushes on Timmy's hip. "Yeah," Armie assures him as Timmy sits up. Rolls over and gets on his knees. "You can like," Armie's own breathing falters seeing Timmy like this. Legs slightly bent, body waiting for him. Open. "Lay down if you want."

Timmy looks over his shoulder and bites his lip. "I like this," he says. Blinks. His hair falls in his face and Armie knows it's useless to push it out of the way at this point, so instead he shuffles out of his pants and shoves them to the floor. Leans forward and kisses the back of Timmy's thin thighs. Takes a moment to press his tongue flat against Timmy's hole and lets Timmy push back against his face. Just barely, but enough. 

It didn't seem quiet in the apartment until the snap of the lube echoes across the room. He pours some on his fingers, smoothing it around with his thumb. Asks, "How many have you done before?"

_Jesus, Armie, can you not,_ he thinks momentarily. It's erased by curiosity. By a flash of images of Timmy in the shower, working his fingers in and out of himself. 

"Three," Timmy responds immediately. 

The rush of his answer has Armie pressing his finger against Timmy again. Slipping inside while he holds Timmy still with a hard grip on his thigh. "Yeah? Did you like it?"

Timmy nods. "Yes," and Armie can feel him trying to press back against his finger. "But I like this more."

"You gotta stop that," Armie laughs and takes his hand off Timmy's thigh to squeeze the base of his dick. "Or I'm not going to last." He has to squeeze harder when Timmy pulls forward, pushes back on Armie's fingers. Reaches between his legs to touch his cock. 

"Then hurry up," Timmy laughs. 

Armie does. He adds a second finger and Timmy takes it better than Armie thought he would. Curves his spine and gasps, then relaxes. Lets Armie twist them in and out. Curl them inside him before pulling out. 

"Your fingers are a bit bigger than mine," Timmy hisses when Armie tries for three. He adds more lube and tries again. Circles his thumb on Timmy's hip. Leans down to kiss Timmy's tailbone. 

"You okay?"

Timmy nods and relaxes. Breathes out. Says, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just not really sure how I'm going to take your cock," he laughs. 

Armie shrugs and slowly pulls his fingers out an inch. Presses back in and bites his lip when Timmy's body shakes. When he gasps and relaxes even more. "We don't have to do that. This is," he laughs and pushes his fingers all the way in, wanting Timmy to know that he's not lying when he says, "This is more than enough."

Timmy lets Armie fuck him with his fingers. Long, deliberate thrusts. He's starting to rock against them when he says, "No, it's not enough."

_____

Armie wants to live on this bed, but more than that, he wants to live inside Timmy. He tries not to think about Timmy fucking him, because then all of this will be over way too soon. 

Timmy shifts to his side. Lets Armie slide in behind him, tuck his arm under Timmy's head. Kisses the back of his neck, his curls. Uses his other hand to lift Timmy's leg, asks, "Can you," and Timmy nods. Moves to hook his arm under his knee. Holds himself open for Armie, who presses the head of his cock against Timmy. "You okay?" And Armie laughs because Timmy presses back against him. Gasps when the tip of Armie's cock slips inside his body. Turns his face into Armie's arm and bites down on the flesh. Nods. 

Once Timmy loosens his mouth to kisses along Armie's bicep, once Timmy is back to making soft gasps, once Timmy is pressing as much as Armie is pushing, Armie moves to hold Timmy open by his knee. Urges, "Touch yourself, please." 

Timmy nods, moves his hand to his cock and Armie wishes he could see him from every angle. He keeps fucking him, soft, shallow, until Timmy's teeth are back on Armie's arm. Until Timmy is pressing back more, harder. Breathing wet against Armie's flesh, stomach clenching as he comes. Tightening around Armie and pulling him closer, closer until Armie pushes in all the way and releases with gasp.  
_____

Afterwards, they shower together. "I can't use this shit on my hair," Timmy comments on the Suave. "I'll have frizz for days." He rolls his eyes and scrubs his scalp with water. 

Armie does make brunch. An omelette that they split. "I don't have to work tonight," Timmy says. "What if we take the kids to the children's museum?"

"I got booster seats," Armie comments. Reaches over to Timmy's plate to steal a loose bit of cheese. "For Liz's old car. So, I can drive us all."

Timmy nods and takes a sip of coffee. "Nice."  
_____

"Do you want to drive?" Armie asks, holding the car keys out to Timmy, who shoves his hands in his pocket. Shakes his head. "You can. Or, have you only driven like the Flintstones car?"

Timmy walks around to the passenger side. Looks in the back like he doesn't believe Armie went out and bought fucking booster seats for his kids. Grins, but then bites the inside of his cheek. "I don't know how to drive," Timmy says quietly. 

"Oh," Armie says. Drops it until they're both settled in. Reaches over and rubs Timmy's knee. "I can teach you."

Timmy nods and reaches for the radio. Changes the station to something that's loud, crass. Nods along as they pull onto the road. 

"This is a bit," Armie tries not to sound like an old man. He fails. "Loud."

Timmy sighs. Rolls his eyes. "Armie, as my boyfriend, you have to start listening to good music."

_As my boyfriend._ Armie grins and turns towards the school. "I can try." Moves his hand to find Timmy's fingers and weaves them together.

**Author's Note:**

> Bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
